Into the Woods

December 12, 2007

lizajane.jpgI like the sound of the woods, especially with snow on the ground. I like the crunching of my feet as I climb a hill or move along a path. I like to catch the sight of a scrambling deer up ahead of me. I like the sound of snow falling from a branch. I like how it all seems to make sense.

For years I was an environmental activist. Now I’m an environmental practitioner. I used to work in an office talking about the environment. Now I work in an environment we call the woods and talk to horses. I like it this way. But, hey, that’s just me.

I wrote a “to do” list the other night that made me smile. It went like this:

1) Cut trees.
2) Haul trees.
3) Split trees
4) Write about trees.

It started out to be a serious list of my next day’s activities. But it became a nice mantra about where I stand now in this so-called life. I like it this way.

I cut trees based on the “worst first” approach. As in, the worst tree gets cut first, thus leaving room and light for the best trees to flourish. In this manner I visualize the woods as a giant garden in need of “pruning.” At best, I will be a very, very old man if I ever truly get to see the ultimate end to my efforts. But, then again, there really will be no end to these efforts. They will live on, and I like it that way.

My woods are young – mostly a hodge-podge of softwoods trying to rebound after a hundred years or so of being pasture. I still encounter the labyrinth of barbed wire and make shift stonewalls that used to keep the sheep and cows confined to our hillsides that rise above the Winooski’s North Branch. I like to study the boundaries. I imagine the decisions based on contour, property boundaries, thoughts of rotation, the natural movements of wildlife and just plain necessity.

I don’t like the sound of my chainsaw. Or its smell. When I’m working in my own woods, I find myself organizing my work so that I get as much of the chainsaw work done and out of the way in a flourish of activity so I can get back to the “quiet” work: scouting trees and trails, and hitching the horses to the loads.

I like the sounds of the horses breathing and moving in the woods. I like to watch them and learn about what’s lurking. As a prey animal, they know what’s out there. It’s deeply embedded in their DNA to know what’s out there. Watch them and see for yourself.

And I like the sound of the chains and the harness as they jangle and rattle as we move along together. I like to watch their ears as I speak to them – somehow knowing the difference between my singing and blathering and my verbal commands. As well-trained draft horses, they respond to verbal commands as much as to the commands delivered through the lines attached to their bridle. When I say “gee,” they move to the right. “Haw” means to move left. “Back” is back and “whoa” is whoa. And a quiet kiss and/or “step up” means to start walking.

When we’re all on the same page it’s magical. When we’re not, it’s usually my fault. And that’s usually because I’m not focused. Or I’ve been lazy by giving them too many days off. Or I’m in a hurry. They’ll let me know when I’m off, that’s for sure.

I was off the other day. I had given my trusty Big Jim too many days off. And the logs I had ready for him to pull weren’t big enough to really get his mind set on work. Worse, I had him pulling the logs down a hill and right back toward the path that leads home – or to the barn and his pals, in his mind.

As we came down the hill with a small maple log I stumbled and fell and, worse, the snow-slicked lines slipped out of my hands. Off he went on his own – well, him and the log. “Whoa!” I called out. And as if to remind me that I hadn’t been doing my job of working with him enough of late, he kept on moving toward home. Luckily, after about the fifth “whoa” and about 500 yards of chasing, he stopped and I caught him.

I knew what to do then: work him. And so I unhooked the log, re-hooked it on the other end, repositioned Big Jim, and had him drag it right back to where it was supposed to go in the first place. I like to think we both learned something that day. I think I taught him that he’s not going to get away with not listening to me and he taught me that I wasn’t going to get away with giving him too much time off. And so we continued our little dance in the woods.

On most days, it sure beats politics.

Posted by M. Colby | Filed Under blog, food & forest 

Comments

6 Responses to “Into the Woods”

  1. Peter Buknatski on December 12th, 2007 4:08 pm

    You didn’t say: ‘Hug trees’

    Myself, I like to smell ‘em before I hug ‘em. Martha taught me that.

    As a tree-smeller and hugger, I approve of this post.

    (did you ever try talking to a tree? try it. they talk back)

  2. wes on December 12th, 2007 5:35 pm

    Boy Pete, I just learned a lot about you…..

  3. sandy ward on December 12th, 2007 5:43 pm

    When we were kids we would ‘birch’ birch trees. It means climbing to the top, hanging onto the highest point, jumping out and down. This was done in the spring.

  4. Truth Seeker on December 12th, 2007 7:53 pm

    Uh oh… Mr. Colby claims to be an environmentalist. Too bad his hobby is devastating to the planet.

    He’s got owns horses weighing in excess of 2,000 pounds. He admits to not working them quite often.

    That means that over 4,000 pounds of horses are producing copious amounts of methane gas. Molecule for molecule, methane heat-trapping power is 21 times that of carbon dioxide!

    Do you take any simple steps to prevent this toxic gas from going into our atmosphere? A recent Canadian study found twenty ways to cut methane emission from livestock. Do you enhance the horse’s feed with urea? Do you capture the methane? Of course not. It’s all about appearance, not the facts.

    The reality is that you chose to a hobby that literally belches potent global-warming gases into the environment - and you claim to be living the life of an environmentalist.

    I chuckle at the irony.

    And keep in mind, Vermont had the least amount of forest when horses did the logging - so horses aren’t any more “environmental” than a skidder. At least a skidder doesn’t pollute when it isn’t being used.

  5. skeptic on December 12th, 2007 10:12 pm

    This was the most intelligent and inspiring thing I read today. Which either says a lot about you and big Jim, or a damning amount about what else is out there to read.

    But press on. You and the horse and the woods make a hell of a lot more sense than most things these days.

  6. Toni on March 3rd, 2008 5:14 pm

    As to Truth Seeker’s sad post–our first priority should be to protect Earth for the living, and that means both human and nonhuman animals, as well as plants. Methane wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the artificial sources-they don’t have a natural place in this world. Michael’s draft horses on the other hand, do.

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