Page 3 of Holly and Ivar
rooted in wonder
Ivar
Mostpeoplewouldn’tspendtheir day off at work.But most people didn’t work in a forest.
To park ranger Ivar Nilsen, the forest wasn’t a workplace.It was a companion.Days spent beneath its canopy restored him.The soft creak of the trees and the whisper of wind reminded him he was part of something larger, older, and endlessly alive.
Unseasonably cold weather meant that last night’s storm dropped snow instead of rain, resulting in six inches of fresh snow, the kind that muffled sound and made the air smell of pine resin and cold stone.Sunlight slanted through the branches, scattering light over untouched drifts.All around him stretched a sea of white and evergreen, every trunk frosted, every bough bowed low.
“This is the spot, Al,” he said to his husky as they stepped into a small clearing.He shrugged off his pack and pulled out camera gear and a collapsible stool.
Liv, his sister and self-appointed social coordinator, had volunteered him to take photos for the Christmas Carnival Committee.The images would be printed as greeting cards and sold to raise money for the town's Christmas toy fund.
“You’re out there all the time anyway,” she’d said.“How hard can it be to take a few pictures?”
It wasn’t hard unless you wanted good ones.
He set up the tripod and waited.Al circled twice, then curled into a snowy nest, sighing deeply.Ivar reached down to scratch the husky’s head, smiling.Unlike his dog, he wasn’t good at sitting still.He needed motion—work, a trail, a project.Anything but idle time, which usually led to his sister pestering him about dating again.
That was one reason he spent so much of his free time in the forest.Out here, the air was clean of questions.He could hike, practice survival skills, or keep refining his endless list of tree identifications.Shrubs and smaller plants might still trip him up, but trees?Those he knew by heart.
And it went beyond species identification.Some trees practically had their own personalities.There was Big Red, a seventy-five-foot red spruce on one of the high ridges, at least three centuries old and towering over the trail like a patient elder.And across the clearing where he sat now stood Lady Grace, a sugar maple whose branches arched like a dancer’s arms, graceful even under the weight of snow.
But there was one tree he hadn’t found.
It was like searching for a single snowflake in a blizzard.And yet he kept looking.Ever since he’d moved back to Winterwood, after California and all that came with it, he’d been quietly searching.Ten years now.Not obsessively, but faithfully.
A cardinal landed on a dogwood across from him, its scarlet feathers vivid against the pale world.Ivar adjusted the lens and framed the shot carefully before pressing the shutter.The click echoed faintly, causing Al to lift his head.
“Nothing to worry about, buddy,” Ivar murmured, giving the dog another scratch.“Go back to your nap.”
The husky sighed again, louder this time, and obeyed.
Ivar lingered in the clearing, taking a few more photos of the cardinal, along with a couple of chickadees, and a tangle of snow-coated branches.“I think that’s enough,” he told Al.“Home or hike?”
Al stood, stretched, and started up the trail that wound deeper into the woods.
“All right,” Ivar said, smiling.“A hike it is.”
They hadn’t gone far when Al froze, one paw lifted, ears pricked forward.Ivar stopped beside him, listening.For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.Then came the sound of something large crashing through the brush.Its steps were heavy, deliberate.
“That's gotta be a moose,” Ivar whispered.
They followed the sound, stepping softly until they found a set of fresh moose tracks crossing the path.“By the size of those tracks, my money's on a bull moose,” Ivar murmured.“Let’s see if we can get a photo.”
They followed the tracks another few hundred yards until they spotted the moose standing at a narrow stream, lowering its head to drink.Keeping a respectful distance, Ivar steadied his camera and snapped a few frames.
Then the moose turned.
Its dark eyes met Ivar’s, calm but unblinking.Snow drifted from the branches above, but the animal didn’t move.For a strange moment, the forest seemed to be watching him.Waiting.
The moose lifted its head, crossed the stream, and paused on the far side.
Ivar’s pulse quickened.It was absurd, yet something in the creature’s gaze pulled at him—as though it wanted him to follow, as though it could lead him to the tree.The one that had saved his life when he was a boy.The one he’d half-convinced himself he’d imagined.
Yes, it was absolutely absurd.
He blinked and shook his head.The moose turned away, vanishing into the forest.“I’m losing it,” he muttered to Al.“Come on, let’s get home before I start talking to squirrels.”
