The trees make their own noise. I still help.

I think back to family camping trips in the forest. I, a most humble, amazingly-charming 10 year old playing around the campfire. There's that fine line between having the fire for illumination and heat and having the fire to throw leaf litter into for the sole purpose of witnessing the resulting blaze and campfire sounds.  I remember getting in trouble for tossing bits into the fire, particularly fresh, sappy pine needles, for they make the loudest firecracker noise. Jump ahead two decades and I'm standing in a forest throwing litter into the blaze. Instead of pine needles, I'm throwing branches and tree trunks. And, after six hour shifts of doing so, I realize it's not as much fun.

For two days, I volunteered my time to the Little White Salmon River Biodiversity Reserve (LWSBR), part of the World Steward non-profit in Underwood, Washington.  The plot of land I worked on, St. Milly's Grove, is 40 acres, but the accumulated property of the organization has grown to 263 acres.  It is located about 11 miles west of Hood River and overlooks both the Columbia River Gorge and White Salmon River. Five staff live on site and work pretty much every daylight hour. I found out about the program through an advertisement for the Neighborwood program: In exchange for a 6-hour shift of hauling wood and grooming the forest, a volunteer earns the right to either take home a half cord of fresh firewood or donate said wood to a senior or disabled person's home.

The purpose of our cleanup was to artificially restore the natural balance between the oak and fir populations.  19th century logging and 20th/21st century fire suppression have created an area with twice the tree density as would normally have been there.  In addition, the firs grow at five times the rate of the oaks and are thus smothering the oaks in more ways than just spatially. Everybody loves a Douglas fir -- It's a Christmas tree! However, those bushy branches make great kindling in a forest fire and the canopy ends up blocking light from the oaks and actually cooling the overall temperature of the soil.  Normally, a quick blaze would burn through every couple years, removing the young trees and twigs spread over the floor.  The last major fire here was 1911.  This resulted in a crowded floor that would be out of control if ever ignited.

There's not much to talk about regarding the actual work.  One of the staff would cut down a selected fir. We would haul the branches, trunks, and other non-decomposing material to the bonfire. The fire, at times, got to a point where the 15 foot flames were generating enough wind to blow nearby trees around. Fortunately, everything was nice, moist, and mossy, so escaping embers would fizzle out soon after leaving their source. It's a slow process, and Hank, the executive director for World Stewards, has a 20 year plan for the recovery of the area. The LWSBR mission is conservation, research, and education.  Ultimately, there will be hiking trails, an outdoor school/learning center, an off-grid solar home, and who knows what else.  He has also been responsible for the fund raising, purchasing, and protecting of another 11 farm and forest parcels that are part of the LWSBR, but are held in title by two other not-for-profit organizations. The western neighbor is a federal fish hatchery.  I'd spend more time helping out here if it weren't 90 minutes away.  It's quiet, it's peaceful, and the occasional blue jay is the only sound besides the river below, the wind through the trees, and the crackle of the fire.

Notes during lunch:
I realize how loud I am out here. Yes, carrots are meant to be crunchy, but the plastic wrappers that all my food comes in seems so much louder when opened in such a serene, solitary environment. Perhaps it is not the noise contrast but the knowledge of environmental costs that makes my lunch suddenly less enjoyable and more embarrassing.  I shouldn't have all this plastic waste, especially because I know better.

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