In 1998, this property was cleared of trees to build a house. Thankfully, the builder had the sense to leave some native trees like the Coast Douglas firs. These beauties can grow up to 250 feet and can reach six feet in diameter. They’ve been known to live 500 to 1000 years. Here they stand with Sitka spruce and tower over red alder, hemlock, cedar, and big-leaf maple.
Our tallest Douglas fir (approx. 155 feet) is up by the road where logging trucks barrel down weighted with freshly cut logs. When we first moved in, nearly a year ago, I created an altar at her base because it seemed to me that this was an axis mundi and a threshold to bear witness for all beings moving in and out of the wilderness along this thoroughfare. The altar was made from found and homemade objects: stones, shells, driftwood, fossils, feathers, and woven plant materials. I thought, here is a designated place of healing, may we protect and be protected.
These trees are an important part of their ecological community. The seeds of their cones feed the forest family of small mammals like chipmunk, mouse, shrew, vole, squirrel, and many songbirds. In early spring, before most plants have pushed up from the ground or produced fruit, hungry black bears will strip the bark to eat the soft, energy rich sapwood, feeding on the sugars of the young wood. There are other benefits too, like providing shade, wind break, a safe place to nest, and good nutrition through the mycelial network.
Next to our giant Douglas fir is her fallen relative who spans our property and our neighbors, about 105 feet. I’m not sure of her age but, “an often-cited rule of thumb is that a tree takes as long to decay as it took to grow before it fell.”(1) Fallen trees like this are called nurse logs. While she is still recognizable as her former self as an upright tree, she is also in a magnificent state of decay, covered in moss and a world of green life. A dying tree provides a different type of support for her community. She is an all inclusive nursery. She gives a bit of height out of the dark forest floor so seedlings can receive enough light to germinate, her fibrous sponge-like bark provides a constant supply of water, and everything that she offers protects the babies from disease and pathogens by offering good nutrition. Our nurse tree hosts red huckleberry, red elderberry, sword fern, and fungi. And more than likely, she is part of many nests, burrows, and new generations of offspring.
These Earth elders are great teachers when it comes to community and it turns out, their hospitality isn’t limited to forest kin. Last week, cousins Michael and Marcus were here building and pouring a walkway by the front door. During a break, they walked the land with my husband JD, and at one point paused to admire the tall Douglas fir by the road. Michael said he heard kitten mews, but Marcus and JD said it was probably a bird. Michael insisted and then easily found the tiniest kittens tucked under the nearby nurse log in a little hollow of a dry place.
Maybe they were abandoned or maybe mama found her way here, sensing the nurse log would provide the right protection from the elements like rain, coyote, and big cat. I don’t know how many kittens she birthed, but now there are 5, probably about 4-weeks old, barely able to walk with any balance and still sporting crystal blue eyes. I’ve only caught mama on camera that I set up next to where I leave food and water, but she’s definitely taking good care of her litter. A few days ago, I tucked a blanket lined box in the hollow because our night temps have dipped into the low 30s this week. With any luck the humane society will call me back and we can catch mama and kittens and get them fixed and in good homes. If Mama is too feral for adoption, we will bring her back and help her get through winter and for as long as she needs us from the distance she is comfortable.
Just like the nurse log teaches, our gifts can help those in our community who need a little extra something.
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