MAY 5, 2025 – (Cont.) I started this season’s planting in the areas that last week Jeff Oppenheim had helped me clear of what I call “riff raff”—the variety of small bushes, the names of which I’ve never bothered to learn, since I’m way too focused on the overstory, namely the trees. These first sections are on each side of the main gateway into the tree garden proper.
It took the first half dozen seedlings for me to find any kind of stride, just as it used to take six nice S-turns off the summit to establish my ski legs at the top of a new ski season. With these first trees, I established a disciplined pattern to minimize the stress on back and knees.
As any older person knows (and I qualify), unless you’ve been doing yoga four times weekly for half a century or you have a combination of short legs, short torso and long arms (I don’t qualify), too much bending over to pick stuff off the floor or ground can leave you sore. I learned this lesson 30 years ago after installing pine-plank flooring over nearly the entire first floor of the Red Cabin and in the loft and hallway of the second floor. The project took nearly a full week of long days, as I knelt down to fit each plank into position and moved the mechanical nailer into place, then picked up the rubber mallet, stood up and stooped over to whack the spring-loaded nailer and fasten the plank to the subflooring. This repetitive stress left my back in a state of rebellion for a good month and a half.
That project of yore was not something I could undertake today without serious damage. Being much aware of that, I was careful not to instigate a second revolution by my lower back—from which disturbance I’d have a much more difficult time recovering. Accordingly, I minimized the number of times I’d have to kneel or stoop. At each planting site, after creating a wedge-shaped hole with the planting bar, I’d pull my kneeling pad and “root teaser” (the painting stick) from my carrier and drop them to the ground next to the hole. I’d then kneel, take the water bottle from the left side bag and a seedling from the bag on the other side. After misting the seedling roots (I did this continually to keep all the seedlings moist), I’d remove the clippers from the carrier and prune any intrusive small plant stems away from the planting hole. I’d then take the paint stick and tease the seedling roots down into the cavity as far as I could—often so that the collar of the tree was well below grade—then pull the seedling upward gently until the collar was more or less at grade, thereby straightening out the roots. Next, before standing up, I’d collect the paint stick, the water bottle, the kneeling pad, and the clippers (if I’d used them) and tossed them all into the carrier bag before I stood back up. I’d then pull the planter bar from where I’d stuck it into the ground temporarily, and use the tool to close the planting cavity. By this method, I knelt only once per tree and never had to stoop.
Soon I’d passed under the BJÖRHHOLM TRÄDGÅRD sign that I erected last fall and was heading up Ragnar’s Way. Here too, Jeff and I had done a fair amount of trimming to accommodate plenty of spruce among the white pine volunteers. Along this route I planted 19 more seedlings. My goal for this first session had been a single bunch—25—and altogether, I’d reached that objective. With the sun in decline, my stomach growling and my body tiring, I decided to call it quits for the evening.
Just over 90 minutes had lapsed from start time to achievement of my goal, which worked out to under four minutes per tree. At that rate, the rest of my stock would require just over 16 more hours of labor. I tried not to dwell on how tired I was from kneeling down and standing up 25 times and lugging that heavy planting bar up and down Ragnar’s Way and jamming it into the good earth 100 times—not counting the many times I hit a root, a buried branch or an underground stone.
By the time I returned to the Red Cabin, the outside ambient temperature had dropped below 40°F. Since the furnace had died for good, I discovered, some time between Wednesday afternoon, when Jeff and I had left, and Friday afternoon, when I’d returned, I had to split enough firewood to fuel the wood-burning stove into the evening. After this additional caloric burn, I was famished and fixed a quick but satisfying repast. (Cont.)
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
