The word “evergreen” typically conjures up visions of pine, fir and spruce trees of the variety we associate with a certain joyous season of the year. Those visions generally include details such as long or short needles, stiff branches and large cones that add to a pine-forest floor already blanketed in spent needles and twigs.

There are, however, many other species of evergreens that no one would ever consider as a holiday motif or focal point, as their attributes are starkly different and seem to fall into their own category as far as tree characteristics go. I had the opportunity to enjoy a particularly healthy specimen of one just the other day in my travels.

A member of the cypress tree family, the evergreen northern white cedar (Thuja occidentalis L.) is native to Maine, and is often found proliferating in wet swampy areas or in northern rain forests that feature lots of decomposing tree tissue in which the seeds can easily take hold.

Also known as the Eastern or American arborvitae, the name has been commonly used to also describe one of the many different cedar cultivars used as ornamental shrubs, low trees to delineate property borders and hedges.

Like many conifers, they provide shelter for birds as well as browsing food for deer, but this particular specimen seemed none the worse for wear in that department.

What always strikes me about evergreens that don’t sport needles is the actual texture of their leaves. Like those of the hemlock and mature juniper trees, the cedar’s leaves are flat and scaly, with blunt, rounded tips rather than elongated and sharp-like the needles of spruce trees.

They are more flexible, and present a graceful drooping appearance with their fannedout sides and rounded tops. Touching the leaves is pleasant too, as they are soft, comfortable and not at all prickly.

On this cedar, a few of the branches still sported their open cones or seed pods, which protruded in clusters from the junctions of the leaves. The pods had long since released their contents, some of which were likely still en route to their final and permanent resting places, where they would ideally produce new trees to perpetuate the species.

Empty now and frozen in time, the small spent cones resembled tiny golden-brown stars shining amidst the yellow green sky of the cedar’s soft leaves.

The sight of that cedar tree generated memories for me from the standpoint of the distinctive fragrance of the cut lumber, which is what sets it apart from other wood products.

Many years ago, my grandfather lined the walls of his attic closet with cedar for its moth-repellent properties. During the 1950s and ’60s, many of my friends acquired cedar chests in which they stored household linens with an eye toward eventually marrying and starting their own families.

My own experience with owning anything made of cedar wood back then was limited to a small chest that the Reliable Furniture Store on Main Street in Biddeford was giving out to all the city’s graduating high school seniors as a congratulatory token – and, as I learned later, a ploy to get at least some of us to go there and buy its merchandise!

From a small trinket chest that has long since lost its pungent aroma to a single robust and healthy tree standing at the edge of someone’s lawn, nature’s cycle, while having once again taken a decidedly circuitous route, remains complete and unbroken, at least in the world of cedar trees.

While that particular specimen may very well stand there for many years to come, who’s to say what others of its kind will be used for? As I write, I can remember what it was like to step into that attic closet or open the lid of that small chest.

If nothing else, that lone cedar tree became part of another cycle of sorts, for it served to remind me not only of my own past, but of how interconnected we all are – tree and human alike – in ways that are not always immediately apparent.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Saco, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@hotmail.com.