As the highway winds around the corner and begins to drop down the hill a vista opens up before me. A shallow saltwater bay surrounded by green fields that some would believe man made but I know to have been there forever. Salt marshes with their stiff grass a natural filter for the water and a safe harbor to protect the nests of the shore birds that grace the waters.
Through the mist that hangs low over the water I can almost see the generations of my ancestors marching before me up the hill on the other side for they also traveled this road. At first on a foot path, widened to a wagon road, and now a four lane highway. It too has been here for a very long time. I wonder what those who went before would think of the times in which I live would they be in awe or shock? I glance briefly in my rear view mirror wondering who might be following behind me in the future, if anyone. But it is not for me to know.
I wonder why it is that I have been the recipient of this great long heritage and what I am to do with my brief time here that will make me worthy of what I have been given. I have no answer. I am only left to wonder.
My Great Grandmother told many stories that began with the great burning, a time when the entire Olympic Peninsula was laid waste by a single fire. It happened long before white settlers arrived and written history began. The legend was dismissed, by those who thought themselves smarter, as just a myth. But, if you dig deep in any of the places where the giant trees stand you will find a thin layer of black that is testament of the truth the world here was once a wasteland of silt and mud, smoldering ruins of a once bountiful land. Yet today it lives on.
I have come to walk in the forest among the grandfather trees that once saw the same sunlight as Columbus when he first set foot in this hemisphere. These silent old ones have seen alot. They witnessed the destruction of the world my ancestors knew, the villages, longhouses and even some of the animal species have passed from this place and turned to dusty stories known only to a few. Languages, customs, beliefs,ways of life, and countless generations both human and animal have similarly passed for better or worse. Yet here I am, living proof that even laying waste to an entire culture will not destroy the spirit, it will grow again. Just as surely as the giant sentinels rose, nutured by the ashes of their ansestors, so have I.
I am a part of this place, just one strand, as vital as the next, in a rich and beautiful web that is my home ground. Contributing my part to the grand scheme that is as mysterious now as it was when these great trees were just seedlings. Great Grandmas advice comes back to me "Look back only to see the wisdom of where you have come from. Then look forward to the horizon to set your course, but concentrate on the steps of your journey."
As I move forward walking with care checking the horizon every so often to make sure I am on course. I have added to my grandmothers sage words. To honor what has been passed to me by those who walked before me and to be mindful of what I add and subtract from this treasure as I carry it forward into the future to who ever will follow in my footsteps.
"Whatever befalls the earth befalls the son of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. - Chief Seattle