Remembering the Forest

I grew up in the country. When I was born, my parents and older sibling lived on the 2nd house (formally the workhouse) on Twin Creeks Farm outside Freeport, IL. There were no other close neighbors. For Halloween, my dad would drive us into the city and go Trick or Treating with the Castros.

It was one of those places that you could keep looking for miles and the only thing that would stop your view would be the natural horizon. No buildings other than the occasional silo were present. Scattered ancient trees appeared but only as small dots amongst the endless fields of golden wheat.

We were outdoor kids and the farm was a great place to get into trouble. We used to jump from the top of the hay loft down onto what seemed like endless hay. When we were done, our clothes and hair would be filled with it. I still enjoy the smell of hay. This was my first home.

We left when I was 6 because my grandfather sold the property. Both families moved into neighboring houses in a small subdivision not far away. Then we entered the forest. Right behind my parents house is a 5 acre forest. Not much, but it was enough. As children, my growing family didn't have cable TV, we had trees-trees that we slept in, played in and frequently fell down from.

I remember the time my sister convinced me that I could fly like Mary Poppins if I jumped from a tree with an umbrella. She did it first very gracefully with her big arching stadium umbrella. She had given me one of the foldy kind that was bent up on one end. That was my first trip to the emergency room. My sister was the catalyst for many emergency room visits.

The woods were my home. I went there frequently to get away from the busy household of 7. Too loud to do homework inside, I did homework on a platform my dad built in one of the old oak trees when the weather was nice enough. When it wasn't, I'd lock myself in the bathroom. To this day, I still get bouts of inspiration while using the facilities.

The forst was eerily quiet at night. There were no lights except a small emergency light over my grandfather's shed and the moon when it was full enough to be seen through the trees. Every Halloween, we knew the woods were different. I wasn't afraid, I was intrigued. During Trick or Treating I'd usually venture into the woods and while I never saw anything, I felt the trees were alive that night.

The snow would come and we'd go out to the Back 40 and sled on metal disc sleds that seemed to defy the laws of physics. That land held power, perhaps not to everyone, but to me.

My love, Chris, wrote an article about his woods on Witchvox. http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=usnc&c=words&id=13308

Monday I get to see his forest. It's not my forest, but seeing his will confirm for me the feeling I felt in mine-that trees are magickal, that silence is golden, that forests have hidden secrets we may never quite understand.