SEPTEMBER 6, 2020 – At Björnholm, Dad was always engaged in a project relating to the operation, maintenance, or improvement of the cabin. Mother saw it as “work”—the burden of owning property, but she was wrong. For Dad, whose day job back in the cities involved wearing a suit and managing an array of people and tons of paper, “work” at his Shangri-La was a welcome diversion. He loved the “burden” of owning a cabin.
One of his many efforts involved the “clearing.” When I was little, I remember references to it in response to inquiries regarding Dad’s whereabouts—“He’s down in his clearing.”
The “clearing” was a small area bordering a bend in the powerline easement near the long, narrow drive behind the cabin. As a young kid, I never ventured to the clearing, though it was visible from the drive. I remember seeing Dad with his pruning shears and Swedish bowsaw, as he hacked away at brush and “weed” trees within my sight but beyond my access—the brambles in between looked too formidable. What I couldn’t see very well, because they were not even as tall as I, were the white pine seedlings that were the point of Dad’s effort there.
Dad loved to walk the woods, scouting firewood opportunities but also observing and admiring the trees. While traipsing through that particular area along the easement, he’d discovered the seedlings. Dad wanted to foster those “volunteers” by cutting away the undesirable growth that crowded the seedlings.
Today, over 60 years later, I’m repeating Dad’s “clearing” project, except the area involved covers many acres, hundreds of hand-planted white pine and hundred more “volunteers”—white and red (Norway) pine.
While at work with pruning shears and Swedish bowsaw, I think about Dad and his love for trees, especially the pine, which I’m now fostering in the same manner—and with the same admiration—that he deployed when I was six, not sixty-six. We’d have lots to talk about—methods, observations, speculation about the future “look” of our work, our woods.
Each day in my “clearing” I discover more of the trees I’d planted four years ago. Some need what I call a “deep rescue” from the fast-growing poplar shoots and sprawling raspberry bushes that hog light and space from the pine. Even in their captive state, the pine reveal their competitive edge. Yesterday, I found a veritable trophy hidden among poplars and hazel bushes—another pine that had put on nearly two feet of growth this spring. Before being overwhelmed by later foliage of deciduous vegetation, the tree had taken advantage of unblocked sun and doubled its height.
As Dad often observed, white pine are the most persistent species in our woods. Eventually, they’ll dominate all other varieties. But in the case of another “trophy,” I wanted to give it an extra boost.
Recently I hiked to Dad’s “clearing.” His pine are now forest sentinels. He’d be inspired by them—just as I’m still inspired by Dad’s love of trees.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
