Treasures of the Terroir

I pull the cork on a new Shiraz from Australia and step into the oversized clawfoot tub. I’m cold and my hair is soaked after a walk through the forest lands of Adytum. It’s July 29, 2008 yet a fog has enveloped our Pacific Northwest landscape and a surprisingly substantial cool rain accompanies it; a harbinger of a season perched on the edge of change. Still, it’s just July….

As I soak in lavender scented water, enjoying the Spa aspect of our home for myself, I think about the work I showed Donn this evening. He went to the office after trading in the morning, and I stayed home to take advantage of the few remaining days we have before autumn rains and the high November winds set in. I set out on the tractor to free an area that had become completely overgrown and impassable in the two years since we’ve taken over management of these forest lands.

Lately, the forest has been revealing more and more of herself to me as I spend time walking over her ancient back, seeing deeply through the thick brush, ever on the hunt for fir trees buried under our dreaded curse: Himalayan blackberries and even the innocuous salmon berries that seem to breed more incessantly than rabbits. The fallout of these two is a crushing effect on young fir struggling to find light and nourishment in acidic soil. My eye is trained now, Adytum has seen to that. My mission: Free the Fir! Create order! Make the forest a lush garden! And yes…mow down those berries. Open the pathways again.

There was a couple who owned this forest before us. They harvested in 2000 and replanted seedlings that same year protecting them in blue collars or yellow meshing. Subsequently divorcing, the woman seem to be the driving force in keeping the forest viable but she was aging and began to neglect it – a lot. She had even built an underground bunker stocked with survival supplies…she slept in it. Probably a student of Ramtha in Yelm…A Caterpillar tractor ended up falling into her hideout on accident, what a disaster for him…and a catastrophe I’m sure she never imagined or prepared for.

When we bought the ten acres next to our five, it was so overgrown with briers and brambles that Donn’s legs bled continually throughout the whole initial exploration of it. I had on jeans, but it didn’t change the “stop you dead in your tracks” effect of the thumb thick blackberry vines covered with nasty thorns that sunk deep into fabric, skin…whatever they could attack. Very hard to free oneself from their grip; it was hard not to take it personally…

This chilly evening Donn saw my work uncovering trees that the former owner planted. Also some that we had planted, tagged with orange waterproof ribbon and had consequently lost to Pacific Northwest jungle growth. If there’s one thing I hate, it is waste – in this case, wasted time with planting only to see it die smothered. Uncovering them using the brush hog implement that can rip a log into shreds in seconds is a real risk if you don’t know the little fir is struggling underneath. I decapitated years of growth off a beautiful Blue Spruce today in these circumstances – just a little trunk is left.

But the real treasure comes from uncovering her work; trees that are 4 feet tall with their tell tale blue collar, buried. These are miracle trees. Miraculous in their survival. Miraculous in that they weren’t mowed down with the usual offenders.

Today, there were 4 small fir and one large blue coned tree as my coup for the day’s labor; very exciting when we didn’t even venture off the path into that thorny mess or imagine there would be a tree awaiting rescue in the midst of it.

I never knew that woman who loved this land before us, and I actually think her a little “off” with the whole bunker thing, but I can’t help but imagine she is smiling down on us in spirit. It makes me glad.

I think that one of the worst fates we could possibly incur is putting love, time and energy into a project only to see another treat it with neglect. Donn planted an entire vineyard only to see the next owner let it all go. Our relationship with the land is very much like a marriage, built on respect, admiration, love most of all.

The amazing part about Adytum is the propensity she has to keep revealing aspects of herself….the trees tower over us, reminding us of our time span on earth versus the trees she supports. She's in it for the long haul. We are just pilgrims here, as the Bible says. These trees- and her- are here to stay for hundreds of years and we walk under their gargantuan limbs every day to remind us of that.

But Adytum likes a little mystery in relationship. She isn’t shallow, doesn’t reveal her secrets all at once. Tonight as I walk the land in the cool summer rain, I call Donn back to examine a huge plant leaf. It’s tucked right in with a big leaf maple yet…are those thorns I see? Yes! A Devil’s Club. We only have one other and not close by. So this is a real find. We tag it in orange tape lest it become a victim of the blade… Earlier today as I cut a new path through brush so thick it completely dislodged three of the four hydraulic hoses, I found a delicate little vine maple. Another treasure. Most of them are near our house…there is nothing prettier in the depth of autumn that one of these lit up with fire from within.

These are the rewards and treasures of the day. A day without contact with people but fully immersed and content interacting with the abundant birds that live on Adytum lands, and the plants and trees that are nurtured from her breast. I count myself one of them. She is a good mother, a true treasure.