Chapter 9: Logging Reclamation for Dummies

For the last few weeks now we have spent our free time clearing out the banks of the main creek on the property.  The creek runs through the entire 43 acres. A thick glut of downed trees, debris, brush, and saplings lines its banks, along with a few older trees the loggers spared in order to keep the creek from eroding away too badly. 

Let me back up a bit.  Perhaps you’re wondering how the property suddenly grew to double its previous size.  I neglected to mention that a beloved family member purchased the adjacent 21.5 acres after falling in love with it while visiting.  The land will serve as a future vacation/retirement location for her and happily, the little farm gets a little bigger…although that beloved family member did make us pinky swear to stay on our side of Masking Tape Trail! 😉  The two lots are really just halves of a whole.

<<Kelley Edit>>

Fake News! The above should read: “It didn’t take nearly as many drinks as we’d expected for Byron’s spinster sister to realize that the nearer she is to Jackson’s dear parents to whom he is biologically obligated to care for in their old age (ie. bring them drinks) the more likely she’ll be able to mooch pity. Additionally, said family member would like the record to reflect that the creek is a “crick” on her side.”

Anyway, now that the curtain has been pulled back on that mystery, back to my story. Welcome to Chapter 9: Logging reclamation for dummies.   Focused solely on the timber-worthy trees, the rejects and ground clutter had been bulldozed and piled up along the creek banks by the timber company.  The creek at the center of the story was severely overgrown with brush and sapling trees.  Getting to the creek was not possible except for a few crossings once used by the logging equipment, and even those were mostly inaccessible with dead and fallen trees.  In order for the creek to be useful to us, not to mention wildlife-friendly, some order and reason needed to be restored.  The current chaos-scape just wasn’t going to work. 

Typically, after clear-cutting, the debris is simply left behind and the ground is reseeded with a species of fast-growing pine.  This allows the timber to be harvested again as quickly as possible in order to keep up with our massive and ever-increasing appetite for lumber.  Interesting fact, little if any of the original hardwood forests remain at all in the eastern US. Nearly completely harvested as Europeans settled the US, what grows in eastern forests today is relatively new growth hardwood and planted pine.  

Are you sure you know what you’re doing??

Review disclaimer: the intention of this blog is to provide a humorous narrative only.  As evidenced by our tendency to take the bull by only one horn when we jump into a task, this should not be repeated at home. However, we find it to be the best way for us to learn what not to do.

The first thing we did to get to the creek was clearing the path around the perimeter of the property.  As described in previous posts, we started this last summer, armed with only a simple scythe and our electric Ryobi weed eater.  If you’re shaking your head in disbelief muttering the words, “Idiots. That’ll never work”, shame on you.  You’re right, but you’re getting ahead of me!  Knowing this could only be a temporary solution, Byron got to work reanimating our 10-year-old gas-powered weed eater.  This fella, also a Ryobi and a valued soldier in the suburban war on weeds once upon a time, limped out of retirement.  However, after using it for a couple of days, several hours at a time, I was in a bad way. 

The weight of the thing combined with the severe, inconsistent vibration created by the less than humming mechanics of the old neglected machine, left me bruised from head to toe, sore, and all-around temporarily decommissioned.  Not one to recognize when I’m beat, and certain that hereditary stubbornness and Rocky Mountain gristle would eventually best biomechanics and ergonomics, I went at it for a couple of days more.  This time, in addition to the impressive new bruises on my hips and thighs, I was also sick to my stomach from inhaling the exhaust fumes.  Back into retirement for the Ryobis.

Unsolicited product plug ahead

The next weekend, after doing some online research, Byron and I headed to town to visit the local Stihl dealership.  This particular brand came in highly recommended by farmers, landowners, and homesteaders, for its quality and reliability.  The day had come for a grown-up brush trimmer.  Walking in the door, I knew exactly which brawny, meat-eating machine I wanted.  However, an hour or so after picking the brain of the yawning, teenage sales associate, we determined that I am neither a professional landscaper nor a lumberjack. What I had in mind might be overkill.  

We left the store with the Stihl 131 trimmer with bike handles and swapped out the string trimmer for a brush knife blade.  While still a perfectly respectable professional trimmer, it’s more suited for a landowner with a bunch of brush who doesn’t plan to use it every day. All of that aside, the thing is still a beast!  What a difference this tool made!  I was suddenly able to slice through saplings and brambles with ease.  I could work a solid six or more hours at a time without having to radio in the search and rescue chopper to haul me off the hillside. 

Don’t get me wrong, it was still hard work and I was still tired AF.  However, I suffered nary a bruise and could still stand up mostly straight at the end of the day.  The fumes continued to be somewhat of an issue and I have since started wearing a mask to limit my exhaust intake.  So now my glasses fogging has become the only prevailing issue. I’m calling it a win!

Let the sunshine in

With the perimeter cleared, we were able to start on the creek banks. Rather than clear the creek of trees and brush, the goal is to “weed” it or to make room for nature to take over again. Using a large pair of tree loppers and various vintage and antique hand saws, we spent a full day hand-sawing a few 10” fallen trees into manageable logs. and dragging them out of the creek bed, careful not to trip over the 2” sapling stumps the Stihl had left behind.  Byron soon added his Milwaukee battery-powered Sawzall to the battery of tools and, I suspect, a chainsaw to his wishlist. So, stay tuned for that!!! 

With the largest fallen trees blocking the way no longer an issue, we began lopping, chopping, cutting, and clearing.  As we worked, branches, brush, and logs started to form neat piles in the pasture along the creek.  These piles will become mulch, fence posts, biochar, and other wonderful things in the future. While making a point not to remove too much of the stuff that serves as valuable wildlife habitat, the sunlight slowly began to peek through the trees and illuminate the once dreary and dark creek banks.  The winding nature of the little stream was slowly unveiled, and the bluebirds sang on my shoulder as I worked.  Nature was expressing its joy and happiness for the suddenly freed creek.  That or the exhaust fumes from the trimmer were kicking in.  Whatever the case, the general feeling was satisfaction as we worked to clean up the mess.

Caution: Work is hard

Tired but satisfied at the end of the day, I brushed off the pain in my forearms as the usual soreness that comes from hard work.  By the end of the second day, the soreness was a little more nagging.  Still, I expected that it would pass after a day or so.  By Wednesday that week, my left forearm had swollen visibly, and I couldn’t open or close my hand.  The pain was unlike anything I’d felt before and I definitely, most probably needed emergency surgical intervention to save my arm. 

Miraculously, it turned out, to be only a case of tendonitis from using the heavy loppers for too long.  Apparently, I had missed the label explicitly warning: Popeye arms required/ Olive Oyl arms prohibited.  If all of that reads like gibberish to you, then you’re too young to read my blog.

Oh, the humanity…

So, I was down to one arm and Byron had to do the dishes for an entire week.  With nowhere else to run and few other excuses to avoid them, I now stood eye to eye with the stack of farming books I have been dallying over for the last 6 months.  The weather had turned grey and blustery anyway, so it was a good time to do some reading. 

Nearing the end of two weeks, my arm is almost as good as new and we’re back to hacking away the debris that chokes off the creek.  The process is cumbersome but should wrap up sometime before Jackson’s grandchildren finish college. Regardless, it is a welcome distraction from the fact that the house is progressing so very agonizingly slowly.  The ability to work on this project is also a luxury that will soon be a memory as the farm starts to come to life and along with it, a litany of chores.  Soon, I will look back nostalgically upon the days when I had free time for such frivolity.

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