I have been gathering evidence in my own unscientific and amateurish way that the Germans have a spiritual attachment to their forests, and I believe I have a strong and emotional case for this claim. Yesterday morning I met my girlfriends for our Sunday morning power walk in our local mini forest.  Martina, at the head of the group, greeted the forest with a loud “Hello trees, here we come!” By the time we were on the home stretch an hour later, Doris and Heidi were in a deep discussion about the scents of different trees. “Warm pines,” smiled Heidi with a look of deep satisfaction on her face, ”in southern France.” Doris, who was brought up in the Black Forest, claimed that it has a deep, dark scent, worthy of its name. 

On the weekend, in the company of two of our best and oldest friends, I asked how many poems they could think of off the top of their heads with “der Wald” as a theme. They immediately mentioned Eichendorff and Goethe. And the first time I visited Germany, my hosts took me for a walk in the woods, which was criss-crossed with neat paths. In Canada my husband was always befuddled by the forests. Because there are no foot paths, no signposts. There is a reason we refer to it as “the bush”. Unless they are national or provincial parks, the Canadian forests are wild and forbidding for people on foot who are not equipped to fight mosquitos, underbrush, bears and poison ivy. Not that the German forests are tame, but they are civilized, welcoming, signposted, and open to the public.