Today was our older son’s wedding! Currently we are in the afternoon rest break, and I am thinking about trees.

Last week we hiked in Redwood National Park and other wooded locations in Humboldt and Del Norte counties. This is Big Tree country. Many of the trees are coastal redwoods, but all of the trees are big. I was especially struck during the drive from northern Humboldt to southern Del Norte, 100+ miles of huge trees lining the roads nonstop. They were thick and tall and endless, an enormous wall of trees. Very few towns and dwellings have taken root. Most highway exits advertize no services, and mention rivers or canyons more often than town names. As you move north, the trees get bigger and somewhat more spread out–think old growth forest–but the overwhelming impression is that this is Tree Country.

Tall trees are old trees. Old trees are not like old people. Old people are the age of the saplings here. The trees have presided majestically for hundreds or thousands of years, during which the lives of indiviual people might seem to them like movie shorts flickering past, though probably they don’t even notice us. People feel ephemeral in such land.

Western forests are quite different from eastern forests. I’m not sure whether deciduous trees can grow as old as pines and yews, redwoods and Douglas firs, but even if they can, they have had little opportunity to do so since European colonization of the eastern US. Having denuded Europe of trees and megafauna, including wolves, and having observed no problem with that activity, newly arriving Europeans proceeded to kill as much of the flora and fauna of the New World as quickly as possible. If you are made of stern stuff, I recommend Wild New World, a 2023 book by Dan Flores, unrelated to the older BBC series of the same name. Warning though: it’s hard to take.

Most forests in the continental US have not returned to old growth or even near-old-growth status, but there are more in the Pacific Northwest, and these are the forests we visited. Notably, they are silent. Really, really silent. Occasionally we would stop moving and just listen. The silence is palpable, a presence looming just below discernment, yet in the end, only silence. You think you heard a sound, but you did not.

Eastern forests are alive with songbirds and wind and babbling brooks. Why are western ones different? Obviously different climates lead to different flora and fauna; the western forests are bursting with life, but not the same life. Elk and bears, raptors and owls abound, but don’t announce their presence vocally. Rodents and reptiles hide in the leaf litter or among the branches.

It is also much drier. The rare flowing water is either a tiny stream or an enormous slow-moving river. The distances are larger; looking down and a river with multiple rapids, you simply may not be able to hear them because they are so far away. There is also less weather drama, with most days like the day before.

We’re in Lake Tahoe now, another very heavily wooded region, yet the difference between this and the Pacific coast forests seems very clear. There are lots of trees here, and most are firs, but they not very tall–50-100 feet say, instead of 300-400. Their trunk girths are much smaller, and they are spread apart in a way that allows sunlight to penetrate, rather than forming a canopy, so hiking through is more of an exercise in sun protection than like wandering through a cool, towering cathedral.

I have no idea why this is, but I look forward to observing and experiencing more changes as we continue our trip. Coming up next is Salt Lake City, followed by Rocky Mountain National Park.