My earliest recollection of the sweet scent of the forest was as a child growing up in the outback of Nevada. My father would bring home a fir tree for us to decorate. In the Nevada desert it was catnip to me. And it still is.
Thirty years later, I am still captivated by pines and firs and junipers and lodgepoles and all of the other many trees that populate our Martis Valley forests. And so it has become my tradition to bring the forest into my home for the winter season. Fall finds me cutting the long supple branches of my red twig dogwoods. I have learned how to weave them together into a red wreath – leaving some twigs branching out for wildness. The wreaths remain red forever. By first snow, I am out trimming my forest trees – and the green leaf Manzanita bushes and anything else that catches my fancy. I often laugh at what I must look like trudging through the forest with big garbage bags of greenery! I make wreaths and swags for all my friends and neighbors – and I festoon my home with branches! My home becomes a living embodiment of the forest.
This week I have been out on my annual roundup and, happily, I am on skis and snowshoes… so thankful for all of the snow this year. All is right with my world.