Planting the hazel tree

Beginnings of a sacred grove

Słońce siada, rosa pada po drobnej leszczynie

The sun is setting, the dew is falling on the hazel tree

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During the long months of winter I ordered five bare root hazelnut trees. I’ve been slowly re-shaping a piece of woodland that had been overgrown with wet thickets, breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Now that I’ve combed through the tangles and cleared out specific trees and shrubs, it’s time to replant with more diverse species that will provide habitat and food for wildlife and my own stores.

The hazelnut (Corylus americana) was high on my list as it is one of the few nut species that tolerate a bit of shade, less than ideal soil conditions and is cold hardy down to zone 2. This variety creates a more shrub-like habit, making it ideal for planting as an understory tree.

I waited as the months passed for the spring shipping window to arrive. Unfortunately, when it did, life did what life does and the box with the bare roots was forgotten. A week, then two passed before I even opened the box, feeling guilty for the neglect. Inside, the cuttings with their spindly roots were bone dry.

Not willing to give up just yet, in an effort to appease my guilt, I set them in a large mug full of water. Hoping the roots would accept this too-late offering, this last pulse of a defibrillator, I left them there.

A week, then two passed. Just before I was about to lay their lifeless bodies back outside, tiny green nubs of a leaf began to pop up on one cutting and then another and another. All but one accepted.

As I planted them out into forest, I think about the grace the land continues to show us time after time. Even on much larger scales, when land is destroyed and abused, the plants return. Maybe the landscape does not look exactly as it had before the act, but it gives chance after chance just the same.

All the time I was berating myself for leaving the hazels in the box, I was already forgiven. Take this as a sign that even if you don’t get to practice every devotion to your garden or the wild spaces, it always will be enough. It’s more important to listen to the lessons the land teaches than it is to check items off a to-do list.

The hazel tree in particular has already been a wonderful teacher for me, and is steeped in lore and love in cultures across the temperate world. In Poland it is called leszczyna where traditionally the tree was seen as a protector of children. The leaves were infused in a bath to help the child grow strong and walk early.

As we are entering the portal of May, I think it is timely to mention that the hazel was one tree made into the May Pole in Poland. This is called a gaik, though the terminology varies from region to region. The gaik was carried in a procession through town to announce the rebirth of nature and was adorned with seasonal trinkets and talismans.

Source unknown

The tradition of creating this effigy out of trees such as hazel or birch comes from times before the Slavic lands were divided into their current territories. We can see this in the word gaik itself which comes from the proto-Slavic word gaj, meaning “grove”. The base word gaj was also used in words such as gajь meaning “to live, to grow, to heal, to take care, to afforest”.

It is comforting to imagine that the term “grove”, this huddling of trees, once represented all of these tender aspects of life. Living, growing, healing, tending. The word “afforest” in particular means transforming land into forest, which I meditate on deeply as I plant the hazel trees, these little beings of spirit. The forest is all-encompassing.

The original ritual of creating a gaik was practiced not just for announcing a new season, but for the designation of a sacred grove. The ancient Slavs were forest people. Instead of building temples, they planted and tended trees. In the old Polish language, the verb gaić was used to describe the enclosing of a part of the forest for use as a sacred grove. They were fenced in and marked with ribbons and adornments, much like the more modern gaik.

These were spaces specifically for the members of a community to worship. To this day, there are remnants of these sacred groves that still exist, typically in the form of burial grounds.

artist unknown

These little hazel trees for me are a reminder that we carry the DNA of these old traditions, that the divine lives in a leaf, a twig, a root, even when forgotten. A little water, a tiny nudge, the smallest whisper is all it takes to bring them back to life.

Nasz gaiczek z boru idzie,
przypatrujcie mu się ludzie,
wszyscy ludzie, wszyscy goście.
jak on idzie po lipowym moście.

Our gaik comes from the old forest,
look at it, people,
all the people, all the guests,
how it walks over a linden bridge.

{folk song sung in central Poland, translated by Lamus Dworski}

Much love,

Val

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