When I was a young child, my grandfather often told me the tale of the Lost Forest. Here is how he told it…

The people of the village disliked them for their beliefs, distrusted them for their appearance, so they fled. The villagers pursued them so they ran faster and faster.

They paused on a faraway hill and sought shelter beneath the sagebrush. The pursuers shouted in the distance. Unsure what to do, they became a part of the environment.

One by one, they stood still and extended their arms with palms tilted upward. Long green needles sprouted from their fingertips. Puzzle-like bark crept over their skin. They wiggled their toes and pale white roots snaked their way into the soil. A shudder ran through their bodies and branches poked through their buckskin clothing.

And then they grew. They shed their human form and grew taller and taller.

They continued running, dispersing themselves among the sagebrush. One froze in mid-stride when he turned into a tree.

Years passed, and they formed a dense forest, lush and green.

They lived their lives apart from their people, always waiting for their arrival. Aged ones stood until they could stand no longer and then tumbled to the ground.

New lives arose from the old. The young ones learned how to thrive in a land with little water.

The old ones told them tales of their former home. They told them the village covered the plains, hills, and mountains. They spoke of loving people, never of those who sowed distrust.

One day a young woman entered the forest. The oldest pines recognized the beaded pattern on her moccasins and cloak. There was something familiar about how her hair was braided. She was family!

The forest trees whispered and a dust devil carried their voices to her. She cupped her ear and nodded.

“I found you at last,” she said.

Others in the village learned of her experience and visited the forest. Some had concerns over their differences, but the forest embraced their kin.

From then on, they called it the Lost Forest. Though their people lived many miles apart, they were united once again.

More about the Lost Forest

My recent visit to the Lost Forest Research Natural Area in Central Oregon inspired me to write this story. This isolated stand was once a part of a much larger forest at a time when the climate was cooler and wetter. The 9,000-acre Lost Forest is 40 miles away from the closest ponderosa pine stand.

Only 9 inches of rain falls in a year near the Lost Forest. Most pine trees need twice that much rain in order to grow well. However, in this location, the unique soil structure, combined with groundwater being close to the surface, helps the trees thrive. The pine trees in the Lost Forest are special in another way since their seeds germinate more quickly than other pines. So even though these trees live “alone,” they have survived.

Here’s a general map of the region from the U.S. Department of Transportation.

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