The clear cut near our place |
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 |
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.
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