Slacktavism to Activism--Forest Wars

The clear cut near our place

Our little homestead is 10 acres surrounded by forest-covered foothills in the Pacific Northwest. It’s also timber country—vast swathes of the forests around us are privately-owned or state-managed tracts of harvestable trees. 

In fact, the property on our western boundary and that of our nearest neighbor is owned one of the largest timber companies in the region. 

When we first moved out here, the main road from the nearest town was a breathtakingly scenic drive: dense forests grew right up to the road shoulder, but you’d get occasional glimpses of rugged, deep-green foothills several thousand feet high.

Year by year, however, the trees in those forest tracts have been harvested. Now you understand, I’m all for sustainable forestry. Culling out the brush and weak trees so the biggest cedars and Douglas fir can thrive seems sensible to me.

In our area, there’s very little sustainable forest management practices; the forest lands are clear cut. Every last tree chain-sawed and loaded into trucks by an excavator, leaving unsightly vehicle ruts, piles of logging slash, and nothing more than a stump farm.

The landscape in our area—property either adjacent to the road or high on the slopes of the foothills—has been dreadfully scarred by clear cuts. Bare strips of land that are a stark contrast to the deep green forests right next to them.

In my homesteading book Little Farm Homegrown, I wrote about a clear cut that was done only a few hundred yards away from our place. One day there was a lovely forest of some 75-acres, a week later, that forest had vanished.

Seeing the destruction of what had been a dense, quiet fir woods, I had been devastated. And I wondered, what happens to the little forest creatures when their homes have been destroyed? My grief over the vanished forest inspired me to write a magical children’s story: The Mystery of the Christmas Fairies.

In any event, I never, ever thought I would be on the side of a timber company.

The forest with the illegal trails, next to the clear cut

That all changed when a nearby property owner decided to build a 3-4 foot wide dirt bike track in the privately-owned forest right next to us—just adjacent to the clear-cut tract I mentioned.

Decades ago, the timber company had agreed to allow hiking and horseback riding on their land. They had never posted “No Trespassing” signs anywhere in this forest. 

They prohibited motorized vehicles and trail-building, but other than that, the forest was available for anyone to enjoy.

The narrow trails back there, created over time by the horse folks, were fairly popular, and were always respected—“gently used,” as it were, by riders, hikers, and mushroom hunters. But this trespasser has confronted users to keep them out of the area, has destroyed trees, and now, along with his buddies, tears through the forest on his bike.

I had just recently discovered the trails through this clear cut and the forest. This past spring, after the bike accident that kept me from cycling for several months, I turned to easy hiking to recover.

Hiking on the clearcut, I discovered the place I’d once found so unsightly had been replanted with firs, many of them now 5 feet high or more. Fireweed and other wildflowers were everywhere, alder trees 15-feet tall, and the delicate, rich green leaves of vine maples fluttered in the breeze.

I saw that the land that had looked so damaged years ago was actually recovering—and the clear cut abounded with wildlife: bees and birds, rabbits and deer. Bear and bobcats, coyotes and cougars stayed on the down-low, but we knew they were there too. Yes, this tract would be harvested again, but that wouldn’t take place for maybe 40 years.

My “activism” if you can call it that, had been pretty non-existent up to now. I was happy to pay more for produce from local, organic farms, or buy as many green or organic products as I could. I read everything I could about climate change, but only worried about it—classic “slacktivism.” Which means, you might feel very strongly about some issue or another, but you don’t really get involved.

Yup, that was me.

John has been more of an activist the last few years; he has used his own funds to support the various causes he feels strongly about, and often writes letters to our Congress-people.

But the pillaging of the forest next door galvanized us both into real action.

Motorized vehicles in forests are a wildfire danger, particularly in the summer when we might go two months without rain. And our place is 8 miles from the nearest fire station. The noise pollution from the dirt bikers has been immense. Horse folks and hikers have become reluctant to use the trails, in case they might get hit by the bikers.

And you know, it was the principle of the thing! The illegal dirt-biking was ruining everybody else’s enjoyment of the forest.

Luckily, all our other neighbors—seven other families—felt the same. I, along with John and the others, have embarked on a campaign to put a stop to the trespass: hours of writing emails, strategizing via in-person meetings and getting together for work parties. After mostly keeping to ourselves for years and years, John and I and the other folks living along our little private lane have created a true community.

Last week, our neighborhood group met the forester from the timber company, who came to the area to investigate the trespassing. He’s a young family man with two little daughters, wearing a tee-shirt and jeans but a complete professional.

I had imagined the timber company as a bunch of suits counting their big bucks made from killing trees. But it turns out this particular company is a steward of the land. They replant their forests; they manage their forestlands for their long-term health. The face of this huge corporation, I learned, was a real person, with the same concerns for the forests that John and I had.

I believe we made a good case for intervention; we are meeting again with the forester, and the firm is ready to bring in the long arm of the law.

We—our little community of activists—are all feeling hopeful. We’re hoping that soon, the bikers will be gone, the track-building shut down, the noise pollution ceasing.

And we’re hoping the damage they’ve done will heal—shrubs filling in the track, soil rebounding from the ruts and compaction. And that there, in the quiet, calm woodlands, songbirds and bunnies and other wildlife will once again be free to forage and raise their young.

I know that this forest will someday be cut down, just like the clear-cut was next to it. I understand that’s at least a couple of decades away—but when it happens, and I’m still on this earth, I will try to be philosophical.

And I’ll imagine how the land will rebound yet again, and picture the clear cut dotted with baby firs—a new forest in the making.