Is this where I have to be? My private Bolt driver looked over his right shoulder to me. We were at the crossroads in the middle of nowhere in Estonia, with fields, a church and some trees that look like old men. Yes, you can drop me here.
The lime tree on Ilumägi hill is one of the few remaining trees in Lahemaa National Park that was considered sacred to ancient Estonians. In a previous blog, I wrote that Many ethnic Estonians believe in “souls of trees” based on what I read and heard. Some time ago, I saved a blog from Visit Estonia about a sacred lime tree in a small village, rather a hamlet, one hour from Tallinn. I have to admit I am a privileged person in a more financial secure period, nowadays so I could afford a private drive from Tallinn. After we left the medieval old town, passed some communist apartment blocks and store houses, we drove in the woods. Mostly evergreens. The land was flat. The sky was blue. However, after some turns, the forest landscape changed into more agricultural fields. I saw little hills of stones, with trees atop, as if they were stacked by old giants. There were old barns, elder people stacking wood, and fields with yellow flowers, and more deciduous trees like oaks and alder. This was clearly an old cultural landscape full of stories.
back to the baltic states
After more than 17 years I am back in Estonia. Or can I say that I am back? I only visited Tallinn for a half day as part of an exchange with Finnish students when I was 18 years old. I visited Vilnius during a meeting for a youth organisation when I was around 25 years old. Apart from these not-even-three days I have never been to the Baltic States. It is strange that it took me – the globetrotter- so long, as I am hearing so many stories and memories from these countries since I embarked on this forest bathing journey 6 years ago. And in my current paid work, since a year, I work with people from Estonia or with Baltic roots. I heard about the many uprooted people, the shared traumas of the 20th century. I started to read more Baltic fiction. I do not know how it happened but for more than a half year I have been working on a hydrofeminist artivist project around the Baltic Sea for more than a half year. The Flying Spaghetti Monster, the Force, or the Fates are clearly giving me some signals, someone would say.
And now, due to my current work, I got invited for a big meeting of 3 days in Estonia. As this was in the middle of the holidays I decided to go for a 12 day trip. Expect some blogs about the Baltic States and the Baltic Sea in the coming weeks or months. Or maybe longer.
searching for the sacred
The sun was already burning at 10am, but my cheeks and arms also felt cold. I walked to the chapel on top of the hill. The hairy mossy trees seduced me to touch them. Slow down. I looked at the overgrown graves. After the short visit I looked up on the blog of Visit Estonia where the sacred lime tree would exactly be. There were some GPS coordinates that I put in my GoogleMaps app. I had to walk back to the spot where the Bolt Driver had dropped me, and then follow the paved road a bit longer. The GPS coordinates brought me in the middle of a field with some young evergreens, but I did not see any trace of a linden tree with ribbons. A slight disappointment started to glide in my heart. I started to talk silently to myself. Can I not find her? Can only devotees access her? Or is she gone? Like many other stories and trees from old times? I tried to look for more blogs to find clues, but there is just not that many information in English available about this lime tree. I walked back to the same corner where the Bolt driver had dropped me and saw an arrow to some old museum. It was a field with some tools and art work. I found a cultural history map that told me that this cultural landscape is more than 4000 years old. I was not that surprised. As a landscape reader, I saw similarities with old storied landscapes I had encountered in Flanders, Germany and Norway. According to this cultural history map the tree was next to the chapel I had visited earlier. So I walked back. I saw an old tree stump that looked like a crooked old lady. Keep searching. The sun started to burn on my forehead. No sign of a sacred tree. I returned. Probably I looked like a confused lady for outsiders, but there were no humans around. I returned to the grounds of the chapel, and looked around. No, no, no. Where could she be? Or is she really gone? Am I looking for a ghost?
Other language
Standing next to a mossy tree in the graveyard, I got the idea that I should embrace the mysterious Estonian language. This language is special. It is spoken by about 1.1 million people in the country itself and thousands of others abroad. Estonian is a Finno-Ugric language and is closely related to Finnish and distantly to Hungarian. It has been influenced by German, Russian, and Swedish and Latvian, though it is not related to them. It is not a Germanic language as Dutch, Flemish, Norwegian or German. However, the same worship of linden trees can be observed in Germanic cultural landscapes and often associated with the fertility goddess Freija, and later with Maria, mother of Jesus (e.g. From Celtic source cult and tree devotion to worship of local female saints in Flanders).
I found the Estonian name of the tree. Ilumäe Hiieniinepuu. I copypasted this in GoogleMaps. Again another spot. A twenty minute walk. And then I found her.
Good practices
Before I entered the linden grove, I read the board. It made me a bit nervous. I can be a bit clumsy. I also did not bring a red or white ribbon, but I got some euro coins that I could offer to the trees.
Entering the vault
Very care-fully, I entered the realm of the sacred linden tree. I observed many ribbons, also the doll. I touched the mossy branches of the tree. I tried not to harm any being when I was there. I felt I did not wanted to stay too long there. Something did not feel safe, or perhaps I did not trust myself.
When I took a seat in the grass, and observed the linden grove from a distance, I felt back at ease. The sun was caressing my back. The birch trees were shining in their golden green spring dresses. I sat there for an half hour, and moved on.
Stories from the Wood Wide Web 