Połomin

POŁOMIN

There is a place in the Knyszyn Forest, in its often overlooked spur that, like a long finger, almost touches the borders of Biebrza National Park. Barely five and a half hectares — a scrap of woodland. But what a woodland.

Oaks grow here that you would be hard-pressed to find in other parts of the Forest. The oldest of these giants are 250 years old. I want this to be heard: when they sprouted, Poland was a monarchy, the United States was fighting for independence, and the industrial revolution — whose relics are now monuments — had not yet properly begun.

It’s hard to say by what miracle the Połomin oaks escaped the saw and the axe. Under their gigantic crowns hornbeams take shelter, and a human at the very bottom of the forest feels contact with majesty — like in Gothic cathedrals. This place is a treasure.