All evergreen trees drop some of their older needles in the fall. But on the western red cedar (thuja plicata), the leafy needle structure makes this autumn shed more visually obvious.
In a drought year, like this one, the cedar’s red shed is particularly dramatic, especially on the cedars growing higher on our sloped property, and those with a clear southern exposure (less water).
This routine thinning partially accounts for the western red’s success at growing big – less wind resistance over the winter. It may also be a factor in the cedar’s slower growth rate (compared to our region’s commercially-favored timber crops – western hemlock and Douglas fir). My experience suggests that when high winds do overpower the cedars, they are more likely than the others to relinquish only their tops (15 to 25 percent of the tree) rather than fall down. (Although even one-quarter of a large tree can wreak a bit of havoc in its flight path.)
Western red cedars, though not as large as California’s redwoods, were the giants of the old-growth forests in our region. They are called “the tree of life” by Northwest coast indigenous tribes who traditionally used them for lodges, canoes, totem poles and many other utilitarian, artistic and spiritual purposes.
Perhaps it’s my anthropological knowledge of their spiritual tradition, perhaps it’s just their quiet majesty, but I have something of a love affair with our big cedars, many of them 60 to 75 years old. It is impossible for me to stand beneath one and not appreciate its connectedness, timelessness, and endurance.
There is a certain innate wisdom in a giant tree. At this time of year, our western red cedars remind us to comfortably give in to nature’s flow – to routinely practice shedding the unnecessary (foliage, stuff, outdated ideas, bad habits, toxic relationships) as a path to reduce stress, promote health and prepare ourselves for the next round of buffeting winds.
