Pine
Pine Shaw Forest lay before me, an aura of forest light crowns the horizon, but a dark stillness emanates from below. Massive trunks stand like sentinels guarding against entry. Some say the forest is haunted, whenever someone drew near, they became uneasy, told of seeing frightening faces on the surface of trees. The Ottawa, call it “Pshaw!” Legend tells of mischievous creatures, not unlike faerie, that play tricks on people but do-little harm. My spirit quickens with excitement as I gaze upon the mystical trees, smell the resin scented air. I figure it will take most of the day to reach the center of the forest. During the journey I will show no blade, make no spark.
I feel a faint presence of unease. The old trees are not friendly, they remember the pain and desolation of the “Big Cut.” The frightening, wholesale slaughter of the boreal forests of Michigan. Except for Hartwick, this magical glade is all that remains. I adjust my pack, lean into the magical stillness, and stride forward, into the fading light. I soon become weary, uncertain of the way, lose all direction. A feeling of deep despair closes around me, my shoulders slump, my feet begin to shuffle. I hear what sounds like breathing, feel it on my face, taste it in the air. The trees are getting taller, massive trunks close in around me, the faint green light cast dark, menacing shadows. I see faces on the trunks of the trees.
I’m overcome with dread and despair. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember my Blackthorn staff, brought over from my travels in Ireland. It was used to ward off faeries, let’s see how it does against angry tree spirits. The hard feel and weight comfort me. With back straight, head held high, I stride onward, the power of the wand before me.
Moving all day until dusk, I come upon a small river on the other side of which is the largest pine I’ve ever seen. She is old, towering over her offspring, I estimate her to be over one, hundred fifty feet tall. Eerie and mysterious she is with magical depths that go back to primeval forests, before the broadleaves. She is of the oldest of plant families and the lore associated with her is ancient, said to have the power of healing, warding off evil, and of foresight.
I drop my pack, wade across the river, climb the bank, and touch the great tree. The good spirit housed within is felt immediately, strengthening my soul, transmitting powerful wisdom of being. A wave of emotions moves through me elevating into visions of great clarity of future events. A dam of built-up emotion burst forth, I weep uncontrollably for a moment, followed by calm comfort, all my stress is relieved. I lower myself to the ground and sleep. I dream I am a tree. The wind blows and I feel joy and laughter, hear it in my branches. Tree spirits speak to me of past and future events.
I awaken next morning somewhat refreshed, strip my clothing and wade into the river. I swim across under water, retrieve my pack, carry it over my head and wade back across. I sit at the base of the great tree and give thanks then look to what victuals I have left, mostly dried fruit, nuts and a little smoked white fish. I eat my meager fare, drink from the same river that bathed me, and brush my teeth with a frayed pine twig.
Now that I’m clean and refreshed, I begin preparing to climb the heights of the great tree. I don my footwear and clothing, remove my rope and saddle, let out a hundred foot of twine and attach one end to a sandbag. Dangling the sandbag, I aim for the lowest branch, fling the weighted bag in a perfect forty, foot arch over the largest lower branch. Attaching my climbing rope to the hanging end of twine, I hoist it up over and back down. I stow my gear, don my climbing belt, tie in with a Blake’s hitch and begin hoisting myself up.
Halfway to the top, I rest, leaning back comfortably into the thickest part of some branches, several squirrels dart away. I hear an eagle shriek as it circles overhead. Just as I’m about to continue, strong feelings affect me. I sense a strange presence that is somehow familiar to me. I open up my feelings, clear myself of negativity, and remember a lost innocence. I remain in the cradle of her branches and link with her spirit. In the full measure of joy, The Guardian Tree breathed forth its spirit upon the deepest reverberations within my body. I small branch appears upon my lap. It has silver leaves and the bark glows green with light. I lie in the bosom of my wood mother, dreaming of the sacred object, feeling its power.
Pine is at the height of power during winter months especially right after Winter Solstice. Being the oldest of plant families, the lore associated with her is ancient, dating back to hunter gatherer. Great fires of pine were burned on Winter Solstice to draw back the sun, a practice which became the burning of the Yule log. Living glades of pine were decorated with lights and shiny objects at Yule, eventually becoming the Christmas tree which is brought into the house rather than celebrated outside.
Powerful bronchial disinfectants and inhalants can be made that are known to treat respiratory problems and sooths mucus membranes. Distilled as an antiseptic, pine kills surface germs.
For a magical regenerative experience, add a decoction of fresh needles and pinecone to bathwater. Negativity is drawn out, thoughts become positive, winter blues are cleansed away, ready to face the world as a positive being.