JOURNAL 0 1

BROKEN BRANCHES OF EQUINOX

MARCH 2 0 2 3

It is mid-March and as the early season sun warms the air and earth in the high desert of Colorado there is a softening; an opening of spirit that spreads across the plants and animals including ourselves. The wind blows steadily against the juniper branches, and they seem to stretch a morning stretch. We lay on gigantic rocks to warm ourselves like reptiles and start to remember to be aware of other reptiles that are also beginning to warm themselves this time of year. We take the opportunity to do a juniper distillation.

Part of our practice when we are wild harvesting for distillation is to look at each plant from a distance as well as up close to observe the way it is growing. On a juniper forage, we will scan the hillside to find a tree that looks as though it has plenty of vitality to share. Outwardly, this might be expressed in some combination of vibrancy of color or density of lace, or shaping of branches. It is possible that there are other signals that we are taking into account unconsciously as well.  

When we arrive at the tree, we continue to observe, acknowledging that each branch represents so much effort. A decision to extend itself a specific distance in a specific direction reaching for a specific shaft of available sunlight. For us, the harvesting process is a communion. It is an intentional exchange. We hope that by being present with these plants and valuing their expression and sharing it, we somehow earn the privilege of making our livelihood from their generosity. We do our best to prune in a way that honors the decisions the tree has made and the energy it has committed to supporting them. We try not to disrupt the habitat that the tree provides for other creatures. We take smaller limbs from larger branches thoughtfully to spread the burden of regrowth in a way that seems considerate to our human eyes.

Continued ..

Some branches we don’t touch. There are ones that we call “reachers,” because they reach all of this wood out from the trunk, maybe 6 or 8 feet of spindly, ropey branch, and at the end, this tiny cluster of green…all to catch just a few square inches of sun. What math is being done here to decide that this is worthwhile? How long will this tiny spot of green lace need to sit there collecting energy from its little sliver of sunlight in order to justify its own existence? We can’t begin to guess. We only know that this tree exists now, has existed for hundreds of years longer than we have, and will most likely continue to exist for hundreds of years after we are gone. It is descended from a line of junipers going back for further than we can conceive. Therefore, everything it does must, in some way, be correct. We leave, allowing ourselves to feel that we have done well because when we look back at the tree from a distance, we see that its shape feels organic and undisturbed, and indistinguishable in its vitality from before our encounter.

The following week out of nowhere while we sleep, there is suddenly snow again. A big snow, but unlike the snows during the colder months, the still-warm branches of the junipers melt the first flakes as they land, coating their brushy lace in water, which eventually becomes cold enough to freeze, turning each limb into an icy snow net. The heavy wet snow continues to cling to the ever broadening fan, caking layer by layer as the branches bend under the weight. And the wind, which in winter would be clearing the snow from the branches with each gust and preventing accumulation, is now adding pounds of pressure as it shoves the weighted branches in awkward directions with each blow.  And of course, some will break . .

We go outside to tap the snow free from the branches in an effort to save as many as we can. As the snow falls away to the ground, the tapped branch immediately stretches back upward in relief. After six hours, we still only uncovered thirty trees. Looking out at the thousands of trees that make up this hillside, and knowing that this is only one of thousands of hillsides like it, covered in junipers covered in snow, we wonder what math is being done here to decide that this is worthwhile? Truly, we humans are reachers in all the same ways as the spindliest of juniper branches.

We become aware of how intricately linked every aspect of an environment is to every other aspect. It also makes us realize how resilient life energy must be in order to keep dusting itself off and trying again time after time, chalking everything up to experience.

So now it has been several days and it is warm again and only the last little bit of snow is hiding out in pockets of shadow on the north sides of rocks. There is damage to the trees, but there is also so much that is not damaged. All in all, it is better than we had hoped. We realize that this is not the first late-season blizzard that these plants have survived, and that soon their shape will feel organic and undisturbed, and indistinguishable in its vitality from before.

Equinox is a time of transition, and transition requires adjustment. The softness of the wind blowing back and forth over the branches over the course of forever, has prepared the Junipers for these quick moments of challenge. And these quick moments of challenge require the adjustment of letting go of the most rigid parts of themselves.

As we witness the trees adjusting and tuning themselves further to find balance, we realize that it is this same balance of softness and rigidity that we are made of, too. It is what defines us and defines how well we exist within our environment. Equinox is balance, but balance is not stillness.  It is not a static state to be achieved. It is the temporary convergence at a midpoint between extremes. It is an active process of adjustment. It is an active process of branches breaking and reaching.

So, honor this plant, and its wisdom, we are gathering these branches and offering a special ceremonial distillation, which can be used to help remember that balance is an active process, and to embrace softness in times when rigidness does not serve, and that it is okay that sometimes some of our branches will break.

2ml pure Juniper Oil from fallen Equinox branches in tiny corked collector vial

[This will be a very small production run consisting of only a few distillations, yielding at most 100 ml of essential oil.]