The Eye of the Woodsman

I remember learning about vanishing points in art class at Gage Park. We had to take at least one semester of music and one semester of art. Or was it two semesters? Whatever. You could get out of the music class by joining the band or the chorus, and you could substitute mechanical drawing for art, but I did neither, so I defaulted to music and art. I found the music class interesting, but the only thing I remember from the art class is those vanishing points.

I know that you are interested in architecture, which ties into your interest in art. I guess that I look at trees like you look at buildings, although I never had an interest in drawing them. As with buildings, there's a lot more to trees than what the average person thinks. No two trees are exactly alike, not the ones that grow naturally anyway. Plantation trees look quite similar but, even they are not exactly identical to each other. Lots of things affect the way a tree grows. There's genetics of course, but environmental factors also play a big part. If a tree grows in a field all by itself, it tends to spread out wide but, if there is competition from other trees, it tries to grow straight, reaching towards the light. If something interferes with the way a tree is trying to grow, it will try to compensate by growing a different way.

Of course my interest in trees is not just about aesthetics. When it comes time to cut a big tree down, you have to really pay attention or it can land on you or otherwise fall the way you don't want it to. If it hangs up on another tree, there are a number of ways you can get it down, but they are all time consuming and involve a certain amount of danger. Better to do it right the first time.

It is said that he who cuts his own firewood warms himself twice. Truth be known, you handle the same wood more times than that. First you cut the tree down, then you cut it into manageable pieces so you can get it home, then you cut it into smaller pieces that can fit into your wood stove, then you pile it up and let it dry out for six months or a year, then you bring it into the house, then you put it in the stove and, finally, you remove the ashes from the stove and take them back outside.

Before you even start that process, you have to decide which trees to cut this year and which ones to leave for another time. I'm always looking at trees and evaluating them. Does this one have a future? If I leave it be, what's it going to look like ten years from now? A hundred years from now? Sometimes there's a tree that ought to be cut, but it's too dangerous or inaccessible for my taste. I'm not going to live long enough to cut them all, so I sometimes leave the inconvenient trees for Mother Nature to take care of. After all, if it wasn't for me, she'd be doing them all herself anyway.

Okay, so how did you manage to cut yourself? Don't feel bad, it happens to the best of us. Maybe if you tell me how you did it, I won't make the same mistake someday, although I probably already have.