You hear the old-growth before you see it. The scale arrives as a change in the quality of air, a hush that has nothing to do with silence and everything to do with age.
These cedars were seedlings when the first surveyors were drawing lines that would never match the land. To stand beneath them is to revise every assumption you carried in about time, patience, and what a place can hold.
I walked out of the grove quieter than I went in. That, I think, is the whole point of the thing.