Sunday as I hauled brush from where I had cut it at the side of a trail to where I would chip it, I reflected on how transitory my work was. I would take two cartloads and then rest by reading a book. Two more cartloads, rest with a book.
About five years ago it wasn't this way. Sure, I'd work about an hour then read an hour, but that was to enjoy our cabin and its surroundings rather than work, work, work.
Once my skin allergy got worse, I went to our cabin less and less and of course did less and less. All the trails that I had kept open or cut grew over. My little loading dock that I used as a work bench fell apart. I haven't changed the oil on the chipper for two years or more; it is black, black, black. It was a big deal to cut the grass and clear some fallen trees this year on our main loop.
My allergy is not so bad, maybe it was a high dose of zinc tablets, but I'm starting to catch up a bit. But, oh there is still so much to do. And soon it will be wood cutting season and I haven't even split all of the wood I cut last year.
In this context, I thought of all the people who came before me who changed the woods and then the woods hid much of their work.
Sometime in the 19th century I'm sure that loggers came through and cut the great white pines. The only untouched stand I know of is "The Pinery" somewhere off Lake County 2, probably a half hour east and north of us. It has a few trees that were growing in George Washington's time.
We are now left with mostly balsam and aspen, lots of alder, some birch and red maple, a very few sugar maples, and a large variety of other shrubs and small trees.
In the first decade of the twentieth century a man named Bond homesteaded what is now our 80 acres. He probably cleared some portion of the land for farming. Maybe he built the rock wall that is now covered with brush and left some of the fence wire that we constantly pull up. Probably he dug the well that has now collapsed and has a large balsam growing at the side of hole. I don't know if he or somebody later built the house that we found in decrepit condition.
To be continued.
