#7 About the Trees

I never saw a discontented tree. John Muir
You’ve probably guessed I’m a tree hugger. Indeed, when you look at the thick moss like fleece that hugs a tree, especially when moist after winter rains, you too would want to wrap your arms around such a mighty limb and take succor.

That is, if you aren’t afraid of the bugs that might be lurking in the moss. I’m not. Because I love trees so much that I might even hug them, I’ve been reluctant to take down trees in the last 25 years that I have stewarded this earth. Hence, the forest has grown up around the cabin, encroaching on the solar panels’ range, though I never forget that I am she who encroaches. I have resisted cutting down trees in order to preserve the air they help us breathe, the cooling effect of their branches, the beauty of their reach. Even when former caretakers asked if I would bring down a tree or two to let in more light on the cabin, I resisted.

However, at last it is necessary to take down several big trees surrounding the cabin to keep the cabin and its dwellers in better condition. I have also become aware of the need to eradicate easily flamable small trees (tan oaks) 4” in diameter or less, the debris from trees down that nature felled, and fire-hazardous brush not only with 100 yards of “defensible space” around the cabin but in the acres beyond in order to actually see the forest through the overgrown bushes. Here is an example of nearly the same view of a madrone tree before (left) and after the brush came out around it (right):

Clearing the brush

We have “Burn Days” when the county air quality board has declared that the potential from pollution of burning brush piles will not significantly endanger the valley. Often such days occur when it’s raining, of course, also reduing the danger of a huge burn pile spreading. I myself hate to resort to burning, but some of the folks helping clear out two acres of debris from the woods could not get a chipper down the road and so we burned (with a permit from the California Department of Forestry, of course, and guidelines issued by the local fire department).

Mountain Man Dan to left, tending the burn pile


(Right) Here I am cooking a quesadilla over the coals in a cast iron skillet when burning at night. Why? Because I can.

This land was all originally redwood, but I heard that after the old growth was removed, the loggers burned huge swaths and planted tan oak, thinking it would be a useful second growth forest to harvest one day. I have to investigate the reality behind the different stories I’m hearing now, but here are examples of burned out stumps and skeletons dating back many decades before I arrived:

Regardless of origins, tan oak does not make a very beautiful forest, its limbs scraggly and easily broken in windstorms. When a tree is felled, bushes of “scrub oak” rise around the stump and propagate. Much of the acreage closest to the cabin has been this scraggly and bushy for years. The woodsmen Bruce, Dan and their companions have helped opened the vista. (Below is a picture of the forest dominated by scrub oak and lacking visibility.)

Forest reclamation

The idea of clearing the woods by conducting controlled burns was practiced by the Native Americans. I always enjoyed the critic of a mythic image of the early Europeans arriving on the indigenous shores to face impenetrable wilderness. In fact, Native peoples practically manicured many forests across the northeast because the use of controlled burns helped reduce brush and small trees that would block the hunters’ sighting of game or the warriors’ sighting of danger. So in reality, many early European settlers encountered forest gardens. Three hundred years later, we are still learning to manage woodlands with as much wisdom.

I became even more interested in restoring my own little forest here when I passed through an educational exhibition forest within the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park on Highway 101 north of Arcata. Ken Burns’ film series called The National Parks: America’s Best Idea praises the courageous founding and enduring value of so many of these precious resources. The film helped me take better notice of paths carefully built through the old growth redwoods, preserved by many outspoken local citizens and advocates who finally captured the ear of political leaders to protect these lands.

One such path had photos showing how the forest floor once had the ugly gash of a lumber road and lumber-related debris on its canyon hillsides, until the reclamation efforts cleaned up the debris and extraneous brush, allowing a fern dell to thrive where the lumber trucks had ripped through the land. I too plan for such restoration and rejuvenation, with ferns growing plentifully in the hillside where the winter rains come down and along the creek bed, and native plants growing along with some vegetables in the garden belown the house, where now you only see the ruin of felled trees. Imagine this redwood creek bed (left) restored.

If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen. ~Henry David Thoreau

Felling a tree

For someone who does love trees, I amazed myself at my contradictory response to watching a tree come down (we must embrace our contradictions!). I whooped with awe more than joy, but whoop I did. Truly these leviathans of the earth have such power; I begin to understand how some humans feel their own power enhanced by bringing down and overwhelming huge forces (redwoods, dictators?).

The art of felling a tree is one I could learn much more about, though I watched and asked questions. In a video clip (that I can't yet get online), Dan, the mountain man who introduced mushrooms on the land to me, is the lumberjack who brings the tree down. Dan makes cuts with his (extremely loud) chainsaw, continually estimating angles and degree of depth to gage when the tree is ready to topple over. He put himself right into harm’s way to read the tree’s trajectory. Watching him frightened me more than once, though he himself was fully confident of the process. I said thank you to the tree for giving its life. His native-oriented upbringing shows. Dan himself says to the fallen giant, “Thank you, sir.”

Lastly, two other trees that came down closer to the house were the tan oaks leaning precipitously over the cabin itself. I was relieved that these were gone when it meant that I could feel safer in the cabin. Here a tree “climber” went up in a “bucket” (photo, below, right) that allowed him to first cast down huge branches from the top, and then drop chunks of trunk below. Mark, the owner of the tree service and expert after years, assured me that the ten foot square area below the tree but between the shed and cabin was an ample amount of space. In fact, he’s had only three square foot bullseye to hit with a falling chunk in tigher spaces before. These trees will provide valuable firewood and lumber when milled (another adventure ahead). In their absence I will have solar energy and clearer satellite range for my modern life. I too say thanks to them for giving their lives.

May I honor their gift.