Verse 1: Oh, you wondrous, wise, beautiful one!
The larch is a conifer that behaves like a deciduous tree. It is the only conifer native to Europe that sheds its needles in autumn. On sunny winter’s days, when the ground is frozen, the tree would lose water through its needles and find too little to replenish its supply from the soil below. So the larch lets go. And stands bare throughout the winter, patient and well protected.
Letting go to get through the (inner) winter well. What a metaphor. Feel free to ask yourself: What can you let go of this autumn? An appointment? An expectation you have of yourself? A bit of fuss?
Verse 2: The delicate one with the hard core
When you stroke a larch twig, you can feel the tenderness of this tree: the needles are soft, almost like feathers. 20 to 40 of them grow together in small tufts, like tiny brushes.
And yet the larch is one of the hardiest trees in the mountain forest. In the Alps, it grows up to around 2,500 metres. It can withstand cold down to minus 40 degrees and the heat of midsummer. It needs plenty of light; foresters like to call it a ‘light tree’. Its wood is the hardest and heaviest of all European conifers; carpenters value it for roof trusses, windows and façades. And its resin, larch pitch, has long been prized in folk medicine. Soft on the outside, strong on the inside. A combination that suits us humans very well too, don’t you think?
Verse 3: The Melody from the Ulten Valley
About a two-hour drive west of the Naturhotel Runa, in the Ulten Valley, stand three very special specimens: the Ulten ancient larch trees. They are estimated to be around 850 years old and are thought to have sprouted around the year 1150. The tallest of them measures 36.5 metres, with a trunk over eight metres in circumference.
Just think of everything these trees have witnessed! War and peace, famished winters and record-breaking summers. Every autumn: gold. Every winter: letting go. Every spring: fresh green. That is the rhythm of nature. One in which we mere mortals play no part. Or do we?
Chorus: Golden hours of autumnal bliss
Now come along with me, out onto the alpine pasture. It’s late afternoon; the sun is low in the sky. The air is clear and cool, smelling of resin and a touch of melancholy. Above you, the larch trees glow as if someone had woven light into their branches. A gust of wind sweeps through the crowns, and the needles dance through the air like golden snow. What a moment.
Come and join us soon at the Rodenecker-Lüsner Alm and dedicate your own love song to the larch. Here you’ll find our latest offers. We look forward to seeing you!
