By DAVE PRAAMSMA
I have a complicated relationship with trees. To me, a big, old, wind-toppled maple tree is both a heartbreaking sight as well as a wonderful opportunity to rake in some free cord wood for the woodstove. Sights like this put me somewhere between my poetic love for trees and a pragmatic drive to make my fuel budget for the month.
If I have an inner Lorax and inner Lumberjack warring within me, I squarely blame Vermont. It is Vermont that has schizophrenically raised me into both a tree-hugger as well as a tree-burner. Late October usually brings this puzzling paradox to a head when I find myself both admiring the trees and cutting them down at the same time. With chainsaw in hand, I pause long enough to take in the beauty, wipe away a dusty tear, and then plunge my blade back into the carcass of a defenseless tree sacrificing itself for my woodstove.
When it comes to lumber, I’m a sloppy pig’s meal of emotions.
Where my true allegiance lies came to a head the other day as I heard some big equipment rumbling my way on our otherwise quiet dirt road. Some local farmers had bought the 200-acre field next to my home and they were looking to install some subterranean tilework for drainage. I knew things were getting dicey when I saw the size of the diggers showing up. Suddenly the hedgerow of granddaddy oak trees along my road seemed like they were positively in the crosshairs.
“Those trees out there must be shaking in their roots!” I bellowed back to my wife while looking out the window, both of us realizing that the landscape around our home was about to become a lot less shady.
A trot out to the guys in the field confirmed the bad news. Trees were no good. Clog up tilework, I was told. After a bleak and brief conversation, the verdict was in: it looked like about 25 innocent oak trees were approaching their final chapter (in a book of tragedy, just to be clear.)
Now I don’t mean to get too sentimental about a couple of old-timer oak trees, but these silent timbers have been standing guard to my home for as long as I can remember. A stroll down my road in late fall was nothing short of an education in deep-bronzy colors. These were the trees that ushered me home each day. Saluting sentinels!
Of course, the Lorax in me wanted to appeal to the farmers’ humanitarian spirit. Maybe they planted a tree sometime in their past. Maybe they made a tree fort or two in their younger days. Maybe they had a loving mother that read them the Giving Tree as a child for goodness’ sake!
As it turns out, nothing in life is simple and before I could make good on my indignation (now properly in a self-righteous lather) I heard my lumberjack self casually asking what was planned with all that fine wood. “I reckon we gonna pile ‘em up and burn ‘em” was my answer.
Well, anger doesn’t seem to solve many problems – and it doesn’t much serve when negotiating for free cordwood. “I suppose maybe you wouldn’t mind parting with a bit?” I asked. And whether it was out of neighborliness or diplomacy (or a complicated stew of both), my invasive tree-remover was now generously hauling a winters’ worth of free cordwood onto my lawn. To be honest, I wasn’t sure whether I should thank the guy or toss him off the property.
If there’s anything that spoils the enjoyment of a good wood fire, however, its guilt. Where were my principles? The whole thing was nothing short of blood lumber! I had compromised and buckled like cheap lumber all for the sake of cheap lumber.
After some serious soul-searching, it appeared that there was only one righteous course of action: if reckless tree removal was the evil of the day, then tree-planting had to be the only right response. With shovel in hand, I found a willing sapling and bravely planted it smack in the middle of that windswept wasteland. (And then quickly ran home to Google whether planting trees on neighbor’s property was against the law.)
I don’t suspect my lone Charlie Brown tree is getting much respect out there in those 200 acres. In fact, I don’t think it survived the first plowing. But it was a symbolic act. And no lawyers have called yet. And I suppose I have found just a bit more peace there by the woodstove.
Score one for the trees.
