Carmel Mawle

From my window, a trail winds through the meadow and down into the ravine where my favorite little aspen grove dwells. There are other trees there – ­ junipers, firs and spruce, lodgepoles and Ponderosas – ­ but the aspens own that ravine, their common roots winding from the 19^th century logging trail all the way to the road at the top of the property.

Decades ago, bulldozers plowed along old wagon trails and built the dirt roads we now use, but before their roots were cut, they would have connected with the groves that climbed Black Mountain to its peak and probably crossed right over into Wyoming.

The aspens have an elvish quality, silvery white bark and leaves that reflect the sunlight and scintillate in the slightest breeze. Despite their elegant appearance, they are legendary protectors of our forest home. With a higher moisture content, aspens provide a both natural break against wildfire and shelter for fleeing wildlife. Much of the fire mitigation work we do is designed to encourage the growth of these exquisite groves.

In the late 80s, a plane crashed into the mountain across the valley from us. The resulting fire leapt over  the Panhandle Creek riparian system to “Moon Mountain” above our cabin. Today, aspen roots weave through those charred conifers. They are undeterred by rock outcroppings and steep slopes. On either side of the ravine, they thread through crevasses and crumbling granite to emerge in thin white spears, crowned in golden foliage.

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