Before beginning this week’s rant, I’d like to thank Dear Sidney for responding to my complaint about all the unsolicited phone calls I get from robots (see Feb. 8 edition). Thank you, Sidney!
“There’s gold in them thar hills!” went the cry of the 49ers as they besieged California’s gold fields over a century and a half ago. Today echoes of the 49ers’ cry can still be heard reverberating throughout these here hills. Yes, the rush is on…only this time the rush is for timber, not gold.
From all corners of the land, they come…from California to the New York Island, from the Redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters, a steady procession of lumberjacks streaming into the hills of San Bernardino, hell-bent on striking it rich off of the spoils of the Mother Lode.
Whoever said, “Money doesn’t grow on trees?” It’s all here for the taking, bubbling up out of the ground, like Jed Clampett’s Black Gold, and it’s absolutely free. There’s a seemingly endless supply of pines, oaks, cedars, alder, you name it, they’re all coming down.
Wake up and smell the coffee, Mr. and Mrs. Mountain Resident. Take a look at what’s going down around you. What’s going down is our beautiful forest and I guarantee you it’s not just the dead trees. No tree in our forest is safe anymore. As Stephen Stills once said, Hey children, what’s that sound? Everybody look what’s going down. (“For What It’s Worth” – Buffalo Springfield – 1967)
First it was the Royal Rangers, then Church of the Woods and Cal Fire, who were systematically denuding our precious national forest, and now it’s Edison. It’s said that the going rate for good trees at the mill or firewood dealer is $500 to $1,000 a pop, so naturally it’s too enticing for some overzealous woodcutters to pass up. Of course, most of the tree companies up here are honest and reputable and wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone your healthy pine, cedar or oak trees. But dadgum it, there are some varmints out there that’ll cut just about everything in sight.
I suspect that in due time the local constable will run those who don’t or won’t play by the rules right out of town… uh-oh, here come one of them varmints right now!
I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay, I sleep all night, I work all day. I cut down trees, I eat my lunch and I go to the lavatory. On Wednesdays I go shopping and have buttered scones for tea. I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wildflowers, I put on women’s clothing and hang around in bars. (“I’m A Lumberjack” – Monty Python – 1996)
If you suspect that renegade tree cutters are working your territory, don’t get all worked up about it, or pull out your Winchester, just place a call to the local constable. (By the way, you can listen to this week’s musing on our Alpine Mountaineer website and our partnering radio station, KQLH-FM 92.5.)
Keep it flyin’,
Uncle Mott
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