Forest Magic
by Leslie Shalduha
Growing up in northern Appalachia I explored the woods, watching for black rat snakes, who sometimes hung in the trees above my head. I wandered amongst the maple, pawpaw and buckeye trees, my fingers trailing the trunks, sweeping the ground with my eyes, hoping to find fallen buckeyes to gather for treasure.
I often spent time along the edge of the Muskingum River, on a narrow strip of wooded land nestled between the locks and the main channel. The mighty Muskingum is a muddy brown river spanning about 100 miles, marked every so often with a system of hand-operated locks and dams, the last of its kind. I walked over the turnstile bridge, carrying my picnic and blanket, stopping first at the dam to look over the edge. The dam, originally built in 1841 and rebuilt in 1959, was a cellular sheet pile structure that looked to be made with gigantic barrels placed next to each other across the width of the river. The water raced over them, falling into a chaotic rage of white turbulence before settling into a slow meander through the valley. I climbed down the rocky bank and found my favorite tree where I spread my blanket and contemplated the trials and tribulations of my small-town young life as I watched the river’s currents swirl, the water lapping at the edge of the woods.
At 16, I decided to enter a modeling contest. My friend Peggy agreed to take photos of me so she, my boyfriend and I went out to the barren winter woods for a photo shoot. Wearing a leopard spotted bathing suit, I stood on a gray rock in a somewhat frozen creek with my hand on my hip, a big smile on my face, hiding my shivering with each click of her camera. After the photos, we wandered around, dead leaves crunching under our feet as we stopped to stare in awe at huge moss-covered rock formations. My boyfriend and I vowed to come back alone to make love near those rocks in the warmth of summer.
I lost my connection to the woods for many years when I left home at 18, joined the Navy and navigated life as an adult. Instead of trees and rivers, I experienced cities, college and bartending. The woods became a distant memory for me until a return to Oregon, where I had lived once, seven years before.
I came back for love and he shared with me his passion for forests, road trips, beauty and the incredible diversity of the pacific northwest. I came to understand the difference between woods and forests as we drove all over the state on the regular. I gazed out the window, watching the landscape change from majestic cedar groves to alder, maple and oak stands, from dense evergreen forests to rolling hills dotted with gnarled juniper trees.
We discovered magnificence on Mt. Hood, walked on lush, soft forest floors blanketed in such deep moss that our footfalls were soundless or sometimes hollow, as if we were walking across a wooden stage. Usnea, a bright green pendant lichen, hung from the trees, a sure sign of clean, fresh air; this, combined with the thick moss-covered ground gave me a feeling of surreality, of utter connection to mother nature. Strange yet beautiful plants grow in that humid forest, blooming into the winter, sometimes peeking out of the snow, glistening with frozen drops of dew.
Massive trees knocked down by harsh winter storms gave us the chance to interact in an intimate way with mother nature as we climbed up and over those downed trees, wondering aloud with each other about the unusual and interesting aspects of the plants and habitat.
I searched for plants to wild harvest with my husband and daughter, a meaningful way to bond as I taught them to harvest ethically with tools we carried in.
An icy cold creek flows through this forest, one too cold to roll up our pant legs and wade through, even in summer. We perched at the water’s edge, pawing through rocks to toss, watching little birds flutter and preen in the cold water. This special place, Lost Creek, sits upon a volcanic mudflow from Mt. Hood’s Old Maid eruption in the 1700’s. The knowledge that we were sitting on, walking over an ancient forest, filled our souls with magic.
I have found the grownup version of the woods of my childhood as I wander through the diverse array of forests in the Pacific Northwest. They too offer a spiritual place for contemplation and mental meandering. The magic fills my senses as true peace comes along with an enlightenment of my soul.