If you’ve ever stepped into an old-growth forest, you know the feeling. The air shifts. The sound softens. The world feels deeper somehow.
Newer forests have energy — vibrant, growing, loud.
Old forests have presence.
The silence is different
It’s not empty silence.
It’s full — layered.
Like the forest has a memory and you’ve walked straight into it.
The scale changes everything
Those huge trunks? They make you feel small in the best possible way. Not insignificant — just part of a much bigger system.
The smell is richer
Damp earth. Rotting wood. Moss.
The good kind of rot — the kind that means the forest is alive.
Old forests slow you down without asking
Every time I walk through one, I feel my pace shift. I stop more. I look up more. I breathe deeper.
Maybe we need places like this
Places that remind us the world existed long before we showed up — and will keep going long after we’re gone. The Pacific Northwest is lucky to have these old giants. I hope we keep them standing.
