The Woods at the End of My Street

lush
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(Disclaimer: for those of you readers who actually wish to see this place with your own eyes, you'll be met with great disappointment. These woods now exist only in my memory, these photos and on a 2-gigabyte memory card. I write this as a favor to the place, for when I was last there in August, I felt as if it were asking me, in the words of the band Filter, "could you take my picture, 'cause I won't remember." So here I go, "kicking and screaming").

(Deep breath) There's a stretch of undeveloped property about a mile and a half in length and half a mile in breadth, connecting Trumpeter Avenue by two trails with Kobuk and Redoubt streets. Mom first took me into these woods to go berry-picking when I was only five years old, just weeks after we moved into the area. Over the years, she taught me the name of practically every flower and shrub out there, my grandparents and dear friend Sean filling in the gaps of my knowledge. In time I'd become so familiar with the trails that I had each leg of it memorized by its characteristics.

a place without borders, too vast to ever be defeated

wild rose in morning dew
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How to get there: Center yourself in the middle of Trumpeter Avenue and walk straight down to where the pavement and gravel end. Keep walking and you'll find the brown, nicely trodden trail just beyond a fragrant clover patch. When you step up onto the gnarled, twisting roots under the soil of the path, you can sense the history you're about to enter, as these woods are pretty old. You're greeted by a wall of towering quaking aspen trees that sound like ocean waves whenever a strong wind blows through them. To your left is a beautiful mix of moss-covered tree trunks and to the right, a natural clearing of tall fireweed spiked with spears of purple lupine.

mama moose's bed
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It's easy to lose your footing here in the spring and fall when the seasonal rains tend to turn this part of the trail to pure mud.  But a little further down it mellows out. Turn a right and a gentle left and here a few impressive white-bark birch trees make their appearance. To your right also stands a straight, lone birch trunk with a hole in the top, possibly from a woodpecker, now used as a food cache for an easily-agitated red squirrel with cute white-rimmed eyes. If he sees you he'll probably chatter at ya.

sun play
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Go down further around a tall cluster of spirea bushes and fireweed and you come to a place where the ground gives way to an astonishing green, endless spray of tiny ferns and old fallen logs covered in rich green moss and fungi. Underneath these logs lie the coveted low-bush cranberry patches. The trail twists around a particularly sacred-looking tree: four birch trees actually, growing out of the exact same spot. Their limbs form a massive canopy in the sky, a favorite home to a few kinglets and ravens. I call this my "family tree," as I think there's a tree that resembles each member of my family. (The year after my father died, one of the trees was blown to the ground in a windstorm). When the sunlight filters through these trees onto the vivid green ferns below, it's purely magical.

universe in a square foot
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Walk around the tree to where the path widens a little and straightens out and you'll approach another of the low-bush cranberry patches, this one heavily speckled with dogwood. Dogwood berries are edible and beautiful but there's no real flavor to speak of. There's also a nice patch of Labrador Tea out here. I personally love to chew on the leaves though there seems to be some disagreement as to whether or not the shrub is poisonous. I haven't encountered any problems, yet, though sometimes the ledum makes my lips tingle.

the first leg and the wall of quaking aspen
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Looking backwards from this point of the forest, it seems to go on forever. There's a real sense of depth and timelessness caused by the gradation of the trees from birch and poplar to the darker, richer spruces. In winter, everything's crystallized in glittering frost. In the autumn, it's a joyous celebration of orange and yellow, dramatic against a clear autumn sky.

Another 5 minutes down the trail and you come to a "fork" in the road that's not so obvious unless you know what you're looking for. You can continue down the main path where the trail tightens up around you with prickly wild rose bushes and deposits you right on the edge of Kobuk Street, or you can turn right and follow the moose trail deeper into the forest, traversing the entire length of the lot for about another mile. A moose with a scarred hip and her new calf use this path so it's easy to follow, all nicely covered in comfy, spongy moss (if I had hooves I'd use this trail, too). This trail gives you a completely different perspective of these woods as it takes you into a mysterious, dark thicket of spruce trees, the kind you'd find in a Grimm fairy tale. A turnoff leads you right to where the moose tuck in for the night -two sizable permanent impressions in the undergrowth. In winter, the moose like to sit here, chewing their cud side-by-side. I've seen it once when I came out here in snowshoes.

canopy of quaking aspen
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There's another trail behind the  gravel pit at the end of Trumpeter but the lack of sunshine keeps it muddy and infested with mosquitoes, but the chickadees like to hang out here and the plethora of fallen logs makes it a haven for berry-pickers. But I don't have as much experience on this trail. My brother used it more than I did.

I have so many memories about these woods. Many beautiful, inspiring dreams as well. This forest has a temperment that I as a woman could relate to. I could tell when her balance was off, or when she was angry. When my own balance was off, I would usually come out here to restore it. These woods knew all of my secret prayers, times when I was boy-crazy and depressed, witnessed many of my tears and joyful times where I came out here just to enjoy being alive, so much room for a growing child to learn, develop and dream. A place without borders, too vast to ever be defeated, so characteristic of Alaska, herself.