The snow crunches under my boots. The baby’s sled is loud as we start out but gets quieter as the snow softens under the cover of the trees. I can see my breath in the cold morning air and feel the cold freeze in my nose. I look over at my grandson, baby Owen, and wonder if he’s warm enough. His mama bundled him up. All I can see is his little round face, sparkling blue eyes, red cheeks, and button nose, each supported by a giant grin.
We’re taking him on his first trip into the giant white pines. His mama, dada, and grandpa and I; we’ll take turns pulling the sled. Usually at this time of year we’d cross country ski or snowshoe into the pines. But there hasn’t been much snow in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan this year. At least not yet. The woods are thick on either side of the old two-track trail.
We make this pilgrimage into the pines every winter. Last year, after the Thanksgiving storm of 2019, the path was almost impassable. The snow was much deeper, downed trees blocked much of the way. We climbed over, under and broke trails around the snarls. It was a battle, but we couldn’t turn back, we wanted to check on the pines – had they survived the storm?
Fortunately, in the past year, forest service personnel have been hard at work. They oversee the Hiawatha National Forest, and this hidden stand of giant white pines. They have cleared and, where necessary, re-routed the trail to the pines. As I tromp through the snow, I notice the tracks of forest creatures. Snowshoe hare are plentiful, probably because of the cover provided by the fallen trees. And where there are hares, there are the deliberate tracks of a coyote. I look over at Owen, bobbing along happily in his sled behind his daddy, I’m anxious to show him the tracks, tell him about the bunnies that might be peaking at him from the woods, but he’s not quite a year old, critter track identification might have to wait until he’s a bit older. A banditry of chickadees fly about us and Owen squeaks.
The Forest Service gave this trail a number, but we’ve named it Snow White’s Trail. The first time we snowshoed it, the snow was deep, and the trees hung low under its weight. The branches seemed to be reaching for us; trying to grab and entangle us – just like Show White as she runs through the forest.
I check Owen, his hat has tilted a little on his head and he’s listing in his sled, but still smiling happily. Eyes bright, taking in the colors of the forest and the pale blue sky above. The woods are changing now, the scrubby spruces are giving way to bigger trees. Not much further.
We’ve toured other stands of virgin timber. In Michigan, Hartwick Pines State Park is home to a beautiful stand of white pines. The trail through the pines is paved and well-marked, and heavily visited. The Estivant Pines Nature Sanctuary in Copper Harbor also provides a look at some giant white pines. Hiking at either of these sites is always a treat, but there is something special about the giant white pines at the end of Snow White’s Trail. There are no signs, no parking lots here. To see the pines, you must find them.
The first of the big pines comes into view. Off to the right, over three feet in diameter and huge.
“Owen, do you see the big tree?” Grandpa asks. Owen crinkles his nose and smiles at his grandpa.
“Look way, way up. Do you see the top?” I say. Owen blows bubbles through his lips and blinks at me. We wander around the beautiful trees.
“Look at that one Owen,” Daddy says pointing. “And look at that one, look at that one, look at that one.” Owen yawns.
Thick trunks shooting up, up, up into the blue sky. The breeze rustles the long needles, and the trees sing to us. At ground level baby pines are soft and bent, even in this little covering of snow. When the deep snow comes, they will be covered with a white protective blanket. We turn to leave.
“Say goodbye to the trees Owen,” Mama says. “See you next year,” but baby Owen is fast asleep. Cozy in his sled. The song of the breeze in the pines drifting over him.
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