My neighbor, who makes his living from logging, has just 'devastated' an area nearby and across from our favorite spring. I had decided not to plant trees next year (each year I've ordered just a few more and a few more too much it seemed). But then someone lent me Jean Giono's beautiful fable with woodcuts, The Man Who Planted Trees, and I realized that I can compensate for that particular patch of logging by planting up our bottom-land meadow. The riparian corridor for much of our creek has been slowly eroded so that's another good reason to restore it where I can. I'll need to research what indigenous species would be good to put there. I love the native pawpaw and they love those moist spots.
Early this year I learned that this creek was listed as an outstanding state resource water (OSRW) and up until last year when the gravel mining regulations were 'upgraded' it was totally illegal to mine on it. But they did and they managed to keep its status under wraps somehow. Without really trying I've been labeled as an 'activist' and it seems to be an undesirable thing. Along with the word 'watershed' it means you are a threat to those who defend 'property rights'. Their own property rights that is. Orion magazine had a good article in a recent issue about how this came about in the US and it's hard to see how it can be unearthed.
Jean Giono said it was about time we afforded trees and plants the status they deserve. Like water, they are not just resources to be used by humans. I have found that, the simpler the tool you have in your hands, the less damage you can do. Machines they call 'brush hogs' for clearing the roadsides here create something that looks so violent. Front loaders dig a big hole in the creek gravel bars whereas with my wheel barrow and rake I leave hardly a mark. I'm so glad I can't afford a tractor. All I have is a wheel barrow, a few simple tools and my own muscle power. I have to think a moment or two before I engage in a project.
And it really isn't new age-speak when I say that if I follow the lie of the land, notice what is there already and how I can enhance its livingness, the land seems to go along with the plan. Each year, I can 'see' more. I looked and looked for the little carrot relative 'Harbinger of Spring' for the last two years and this year I find it everywhere. I think it was always there of course but it is tiny, and like the plants and creatures of the desert cannot at first be seen. Hidden sources of optimism. Like the Missouri Ozarks itself. Once completely set alight by war and woodcutters, it has made a quiet comeback. I just hope that its own people in their fierce protection of land rights do not set it back again.
Jean Giono said it was about time we afforded trees and plants the status they deserve. Like water, they are not just resources to be used by humans. I have found that, the simpler the tool you have in your hands, the less damage you can do. Machines they call 'brush hogs' for clearing the roadsides here create something that looks so violent. Front loaders dig a big hole in the creek gravel bars whereas with my wheel barrow and rake I leave hardly a mark. I'm so glad I can't afford a tractor. All I have is a wheel barrow, a few simple tools and my own muscle power. I have to think a moment or two before I engage in a project.
And it really isn't new age-speak when I say that if I follow the lie of the land, notice what is there already and how I can enhance its livingness, the land seems to go along with the plan. Each year, I can 'see' more. I looked and looked for the little carrot relative 'Harbinger of Spring' for the last two years and this year I find it everywhere. I think it was always there of course but it is tiny, and like the plants and creatures of the desert cannot at first be seen. Hidden sources of optimism. Like the Missouri Ozarks itself. Once completely set alight by war and woodcutters, it has made a quiet comeback. I just hope that its own people in their fierce protection of land rights do not set it back again.
I had to leave the creek-side land that I wrote about here but I am now lucky enough to live deep in an Ozark forest. This forest encompasses just over 1000 acres of which 600 acres are held in common; the rest are owned by association members who abide by certain bylaws intended to help protect the natural habitat. The association came into being over three decades ago when the forest was threatened with clear-cutting, which successfully saved it from that terrible fate. Over the years, there have been attempts to put in place a forest management plan but this was never successfully negotiated among the membership. The result was a hands-off or no-management plan. It's a beautiful wild place, full of wildlife, protected from loggers and hunters alike.
Unfortunately, last year (2009) the forest was damaged by the inland effects of Hurricane Ike; and this year in early May an even more devastating derecho (straight-line wind) uprooted hundreds of healthy trees, including many of the forest elders. The extensive damage has provoked a reconsideration of the hands-off policy. After clearing the power-lines and roads and attending to other obvious danger to human inhabitants of the forest from blown down trees, there has been the question of whether and how to salvage 'saleable' trees. The recession's dampening effect on the value of lumber has helped check potential human greed.
Even so, for me, this natural 'disaster' has brought to light once again the way in which we humans assume ownership of land we are blessed to live on, wherever we live on it. We assume that we know what is best, or can find out using existing human resources. We rush into our decisions and put our own needs first, rationalizing that the valuable lumber will rot quickly if we don't, or that what grows back in the opened up spaces will be unsightly, etc. For convenience, we put big machines between ourselves and the 'mess'. We usually forget to consult with the land itself, largely because we no longer know how. We often don't really see what is happening on the ground.
On the ten badly storm-affected acres my partner owns we have been trying to pay closer attention to what the land needs from us. Joe has single-handedly spent several hours each day over the summer meticulously untangling the uprooted trees with the aid of his chainsaw. I have labored to pile up small logs and tops (upper branches). In doing these tasks, I have seen the little creatures who live there and the first signs of regenerative growth. Nature is marvelously, silently, healing herself. Next month, the larger logs will be salvaged by horses, not machines. There will be no ruts, and hopefully very little collateral damage. Much of the debris will be left to rot and return nutrients to the land. In places we might burn to encourage long-buried seeds to germinate. We will try to watch and learn, to listen closely to the land.
Which brings me back to Jean Giono's allegorical tale. In it, the 'narrator runs out of water in a treeless, desolate valley where only wild lavender grows and there is no trace of civilization except old, empty crumbling buildings. The narrator finds only a dried up well, but is saved by a middle-aged shepherd who takes him to a spring he knows of. Curious about this man and why he has chosen such a lonely life, the narrator stays with him for a time. The shepherd, after being widowed, has decided to restore the ruined ecosystem of the isolated and largely abandoned valley by single-handedly cultivating a forest, tree by tree' (summary from Wikipedia).
I found a fascinating reference to Giono's book on a website concerned with 'hermit lore'. The writer said this: 'One is hard pressed to find among fictional or historical hermits the insightful assignment of qualities Giono has identified in the protagonist of The Man Who Planted Trees. The striking combination of anonymous service to humanity through service to nature distinguishes the hermit Elzéard Bouffier from other portraits of singular but externally motivated work. Here is disengagement from society but, more positively, engagement with nature, which is, after all, superior to and encompassing society and everything else.'
Life in this forest has offered me and Joe the opportunity for 'disengagement from society but, more positively, engagement with nature'. Joe says the storm has brought him back to stewardship of the land - his surname (Landwehr) actually means land steward! We both worry about the consuming economy our world continues to support, and how (or if) this might ever be remedied. Joe is a self-published writer who struggles to recover the investment he's made in his beautifully crafted books. The subtitle of his second book - The Seven Gates of Soul: Reclaiming the Poetry of Everyday Life - speaks of his personal mission. He advocates what he calls 'free trade publishing'. So, in my research, a further section from the website on hermit lore struck me:
Unfortunately, last year (2009) the forest was damaged by the inland effects of Hurricane Ike; and this year in early May an even more devastating derecho (straight-line wind) uprooted hundreds of healthy trees, including many of the forest elders. The extensive damage has provoked a reconsideration of the hands-off policy. After clearing the power-lines and roads and attending to other obvious danger to human inhabitants of the forest from blown down trees, there has been the question of whether and how to salvage 'saleable' trees. The recession's dampening effect on the value of lumber has helped check potential human greed.
Even so, for me, this natural 'disaster' has brought to light once again the way in which we humans assume ownership of land we are blessed to live on, wherever we live on it. We assume that we know what is best, or can find out using existing human resources. We rush into our decisions and put our own needs first, rationalizing that the valuable lumber will rot quickly if we don't, or that what grows back in the opened up spaces will be unsightly, etc. For convenience, we put big machines between ourselves and the 'mess'. We usually forget to consult with the land itself, largely because we no longer know how. We often don't really see what is happening on the ground.
On the ten badly storm-affected acres my partner owns we have been trying to pay closer attention to what the land needs from us. Joe has single-handedly spent several hours each day over the summer meticulously untangling the uprooted trees with the aid of his chainsaw. I have labored to pile up small logs and tops (upper branches). In doing these tasks, I have seen the little creatures who live there and the first signs of regenerative growth. Nature is marvelously, silently, healing herself. Next month, the larger logs will be salvaged by horses, not machines. There will be no ruts, and hopefully very little collateral damage. Much of the debris will be left to rot and return nutrients to the land. In places we might burn to encourage long-buried seeds to germinate. We will try to watch and learn, to listen closely to the land.
Which brings me back to Jean Giono's allegorical tale. In it, the 'narrator runs out of water in a treeless, desolate valley where only wild lavender grows and there is no trace of civilization except old, empty crumbling buildings. The narrator finds only a dried up well, but is saved by a middle-aged shepherd who takes him to a spring he knows of. Curious about this man and why he has chosen such a lonely life, the narrator stays with him for a time. The shepherd, after being widowed, has decided to restore the ruined ecosystem of the isolated and largely abandoned valley by single-handedly cultivating a forest, tree by tree' (summary from Wikipedia).
I found a fascinating reference to Giono's book on a website concerned with 'hermit lore'. The writer said this: 'One is hard pressed to find among fictional or historical hermits the insightful assignment of qualities Giono has identified in the protagonist of The Man Who Planted Trees. The striking combination of anonymous service to humanity through service to nature distinguishes the hermit Elzéard Bouffier from other portraits of singular but externally motivated work. Here is disengagement from society but, more positively, engagement with nature, which is, after all, superior to and encompassing society and everything else.'
Life in this forest has offered me and Joe the opportunity for 'disengagement from society but, more positively, engagement with nature'. Joe says the storm has brought him back to stewardship of the land - his surname (Landwehr) actually means land steward! We both worry about the consuming economy our world continues to support, and how (or if) this might ever be remedied. Joe is a self-published writer who struggles to recover the investment he's made in his beautifully crafted books. The subtitle of his second book - The Seven Gates of Soul: Reclaiming the Poetry of Everyday Life - speaks of his personal mission. He advocates what he calls 'free trade publishing'. So, in my research, a further section from the website on hermit lore struck me:
A curious detail dogs this wonderful story. A United States publisher originally solicited an essay by him on a memorable person. Giono submitted the fictional piece, to the objection of the publisher who wanted only non-fiction. So Giono withdrew the story and turned it loose. He made it available for free, to readers anywhere.
But that publisher still claims rights over the translation. Giono's assessment was unambiguous about copyright: "It is one of my stories of which I am proudest," he told American scholar and translator Norma Goodrich. "It does not bring me one simple penny -- and that is why it has accomplished what it was written for."
And why did Giono write it? He wanted to persuade people to plant trees, to love planting trees, though the story is far larger than even this ambitious desire. For Giono created a hermit as a model of human creativity and happiness [my italics], a figure whose accomplishments he praises as godlike, whose character he describes as pure virtue.
The introductory paragraph presents the personal characteristics that the author considers exceptional qualities in a human being:
1.sufficient longevity to demonstrate persistence
2.complete absence of egoism
3."unparalleled generosity" without thought of compensation
4.a positive and visible effect on nature
But that publisher still claims rights over the translation. Giono's assessment was unambiguous about copyright: "It is one of my stories of which I am proudest," he told American scholar and translator Norma Goodrich. "It does not bring me one simple penny -- and that is why it has accomplished what it was written for."
And why did Giono write it? He wanted to persuade people to plant trees, to love planting trees, though the story is far larger than even this ambitious desire. For Giono created a hermit as a model of human creativity and happiness [my italics], a figure whose accomplishments he praises as godlike, whose character he describes as pure virtue.
The introductory paragraph presents the personal characteristics that the author considers exceptional qualities in a human being:
1.sufficient longevity to demonstrate persistence
2.complete absence of egoism
3."unparalleled generosity" without thought of compensation
4.a positive and visible effect on nature
These are the qualities I'll aspire to as I look for ways in which I can be of service to 'water and trees'. Luckily, we're not starting from scratch, as Giono's hero was, but the storm has reminded me just how precious, vulnerable and strong the trees that surround us here are.
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Please see the next post for some of my poetry about trees.
And this poem, Heartwood, written after the May storm referenced above that we are endeavoring to help our forest recover from.
Buy The Man Who Planted Trees from Chelsea Green
Read Jean Giono's story online
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........................................................................................................................
Please see the next post for some of my poetry about trees.
And this poem, Heartwood, written after the May storm referenced above that we are endeavoring to help our forest recover from.
Buy The Man Who Planted Trees from Chelsea Green
Read Jean Giono's story online
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