Entering the Mind of the Tracker by Tamarack Song

Author:Tamarack Song
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Native American/Spirituality
Publisher: Inner Traditions / Bear & Company
Published: 2001-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

11

Old Songs Never Die

Teachings from the Ghosts Who Linger in an Old Forest

It has been a century or more since the ancient Trees of this forest were felled, and it looks as though she has recovered beautifully. Her stately, vigorous White Pines and Sugar Maples are in their young adulthood, and many others not so long lived, such as Birches, Aspens, and Firs, are well into their elder years. In fact, some already lie on the forest floor, quickly becoming the rich humus that will nourish the next generation. To most people hiking through the area, this probably appears to be a healthy, natural forest.

It is and it isn’t. Everything leaves a track, and the song of the loggers’ track bellows out at me this afternoon as I check the area to see if the Wolves have come around lately. A virgin forest has a certain feel—it encourages trust and openness, and I find myself naturally relaxed and curious. In a forest that has been logged, I sometimes grow suspicious and wary. Even though there may not have been a human through the area in decades, the spirit of the loggers lingers. The forest just doesn’t feel right—her balance has been disturbed. It takes a lot longer than a century—a lot longer than a single generation of Trees—for the balance to be restored.

I believe the impression of a healthy forest—a healthy environment of any kind, for that matter—is imprinted in my genetic memory. It is a survival trait that told my Ancestors where they could dwell and forage in peace and prosperity.

When the loggers came, many of them said, “Look at these Trees— they’re past their prime; they’ll soon die and go to waste. They should be cut and used.” Now the forest managers come and look at the young, second-growth forest and say, “Look at how tall and vigorous these Trees are!”

Yes, they look good. So where is this intuitive feeling of uneasiness coming from?

It is the sterility.

The lush, rapid growth is an illusion—a scab over a scar, a forest trying to heal herself. The wound is much deeper, much more critical to the life of the forest, than can be healed by merely replacing the ancient Trees. Along with them went the Moose and the Marten, the Fisher and the Wolverine, the Ginseng and the Orchid, the Grayling and the Sturgeon. Gone are the old snags, the great standing hulks of the old forest giants where so many Birds and other animals once nested and denned and foraged.

The forest floor is now clean and park-like. Gone are the shed branches, some of which were as big as the Trees that now stand. And gone are the fallen Elders who used to provide cover for ground-dwelling animals. The rotting trunks provided the nourishing seedbed some Trees needed for their saplings to get a start. A forest like this one of even-aged, fast-growing Trees occurs naturally only when there is a devastating event such as a major forest fire or wind storm.

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