Spring is late this year. On this last weekend of March, we’re welcoming 9 inches of snow—followed by a forecast of ice and freezing rain. A rough combination, but it hardly matters.
One last hurrah for old man winter gives us time to catch up on things inside before spring garden season starts.
Well—not garden season, really. That’s still a long way off.
But it is firewood and maple syrup season —spring in name, but still deeply rooted in the rhythms of winter. While most of the snow may melt, temps in Vermont aren’t usually warm enough for planting until Memorial Day (or even early June in some years).
So what are we doing this time of year? Getting ready for winter of course!
Winter is always coming.
This year, our firewood work serves a dual purpose: heating the house next winter and taking down trees that might otherwise fall and crush something—or someone.
Ash trees have been dying from an invasive beetle for decades now, and the plague has been working its way north each season. It reached our county 2 years ago, and at this point, only 5 to 10 in a hundred ash trees are still alive.
These beetles don’t mess around. Once they arrive, ash trees die almost overnight. Unlike oaks, which can stand for decades after death, ash dries out within a season and shatters in the wind—splintering with every storm.
In practical terms, that’s a lot of dead trees—about 30% of the 30 acres we manage.
And here we are, taking them down one by one, before they come down on their own in the next few years.
Most loggers, knowing it was coming, cut them in advance. And honestly, that’s what we probably should have done for the ones by the house. But we didn’t.
Some trees are immune. Not many, but some. It’s not well documented, but one tree in a thousand maybe will live through this scourge. And honestly, irrational as it may be, I’d hoped the big ancient ash right in our dooryard would be among them.
This is an extinction level event for a whole species, and as we sit here powerless on the front lines, it’s heartbreaking to watch.
These are the same trees countless generations of humans used to weave sturdy pack baskets. The same trees that leaf in late, sheltering young populations of ramps, trout lily, bloodroot and spring beauty—offering space in their dappled spring understory.
But some are surviving.
Especially the young—those smaller than 4 to 5 inches in diameter have a different, tighter bark that the beetles can’t get through. And large trees coppice and come back from the root to try again.
Some, undoubtedly, will persist, but who knows whether it will be enough.
Here on our land in the north woodlands, we could throw up our hands and lament their loss. And if I’m completely honest, there’s definitely some of that.
But it’s also an opportunity to see this as creative destruction. Just the normal cycle of things, and a chance to begin anew. Possibly even with woodland cousins that have been through this cycle once before.
Chestnuts were once around 25% of the woodlands in our area, but now they’re all but extinct. All but…but not quite. A few lone trees survived the blight, and those same trees have been crossbred into resistant species, whose nuts we will plant this spring.
Butternuts too, faced the same fate, but a handful of trees survived. These were mostly dooryard trees, not deep in the woods, and not exposed to the blight of their neighbors. People left them standing, and with hope, and many made it through.
Nuts from these same trees will take root in our woods this spring.
And chokecherry, black cherry, pin cherry, maple, and birch. All trees that thrive on disturbance, and wait patiently for their opportunity to shoot toward the sunlight when there’s an opening in the canopy. They’ll hardly need our help, they’re already patiently waiting.
The woods are not about permanence, but persistence. Where one tree falls, another rises to take its place—quietly, steadily, holding the line.
Until Next Time,
Ashley at Practical Self Reliance
P.S. This is a free, reader-supported publication—meaning everything here is available without a paywall. If you enjoy what I share and want to help keep the lights on (and the chainsaw running), I’m deeply grateful for any support you’re able or willing to give. Paid subscriptions mean a lot, and you’ll have my heartfelt thanks.
"The forest eats itself and lives forever." -Barbara Kingsolver
This highlights why it is so important to grow trees from seed!
Far too many nurseries grow genetically identical trees that pests/diseases can wipe out with ease.