SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS

Inspiration

My local Cedar is Thuja occidentals.  She is the oldest species of tree now living on earth.  The Thuja family were the first conifers to have taken form.  The fact that their foliage is in the form of scales, rather than needles, is a sign of this tree family’s great age.  An individual tree can live a thousand years.  In many societies she is known as “The Tree of Life”.

While, I wander through Cedar groves in all of the seasons, it is in the winter that the groves are at their most magical.  It is well worth the effort to strap on my snowshoes and brave the cold. The alternate reality that awaits me in the Cedar groves never fails to enchant me.  The Cedar trees’ foliage still carry scent at surprising low temperatures and on sunny day their uplifting fragrance, combined with the cold air, is the essence of “fresh”.  The mood in the groves is exhilarating yet meditative. It is a silent sacred space. In the dim light of the understory, the branches of the trees are heavy with sparkling blankets of snow that muffle all sound.  The understory can be covered by up to three feet of accumulated snow.  Silence reigns supreme and there is a perpetual gloaming.  Occasionally, a thick ray of dazzling sunlight pierces the groves creating an illuminated pillar to the sky.    The snow is often knit with the tracks of rabbits, deer or moose which browse the lower branches of the cedars.  Signs that I am not alone is this hushed world.

If I am lucky, once or twice a winter, I experience the first hour of a snow storm in the Cedar groves.   The smell and air of the pre-storm ambiance is exhilarating.  The air is charged with ozone. The sweet odor of the beginning of the storm mingles with the Cedar’s fresh, green breath.  At the edge of the storm, glittering, white flakes begin to lazily drift through the air and accumulate on the branches.  It is a good idea to leave the chapel of the Cedar grove at the storm’s first signs.  Here in the Boreal, the snow can quickly become thick, and while I have an excellent sense of place and direction, it is possible to get lost in a white out.  As the winds pick up and snow ghosts whip through the air.  I pull my knitted, wool balaclava over my face to keep away the biting air   My snow shoes sink in the fresh powder and it gets harder to walk. The familiar signs of the forest become harder to read. I am comforted when I see the warm, yellow lights coming from my small cabin.  I reach the entrance and unstrap my snow shoes.  Inside a welcoming fire is glowing in the fireplace, kept alive by my life’s companion. The balsamic scents of the fire wood fill the air.  It will be a transformative night in the Boreal Forest.  Snow is falling on the cedars.