Weekend Steam

This photo is taken from The Furrow, a magazine published by John Deere forty years ago. The Russell engine belonged to the Shellabarger Brothers, the Advance Rumely belonged to Harold Jarvis, and the Wood Brothers engine belonged to William Seyb and Dallas Kerr. This photo was taken at the Midwest Old Settlers and Threshers show at Mt. Pleasant, Iowa in 1966.

Carbon Credits

There are a lot of words being flung concerning saving the Earth from global warming. Carbon Credits is my favorite term in this shouting match. Some of my customers are collecting dollars simply because they wanted to plant trees, and then did so. They have since signed up with an outfit in Chicago that deals in this smoke and mirrors project, and are now collecting dollars that seem to be real enough. I wonder how long it will be until the investors in this mess wake up and begin to wonder what happens to all that carbon when the trees die. (See: Trees Are Temporary) The Cerambycid beetle larvae in the persimmon wood pictured above are not commenting about this issue, but they continue to work silently behind the scenes, along with carpenter ants, termites, powder post beetles, and assorted fungi. These mostly invisible flora and fauna are one of the big reasons we need to work overtime growing trees, but real forest aficianodos grow trees mainly because we like them.

Culture

Plan writing for forestry puposes has a long list of requirements because of the various bureaucracies involved. One of the unusual parts required in forest management plans is a section on Cultural Resources. This has to be mentioned in every plan that might be in a state, federal, or American Forest Foundation program. The nearest thing to a cultural resource I see are old cemeteries. If I can identify a site used by Indians, I am not supposed to document it in writing because it might cause looting of a grave site. I finally found an old building that I thought might qualify for a Cultural Resource;-)
I mentioned this old shack to the landowner and found that he has burned it down since I took the photo. A meth maker had taken it over to ply his trade, so the shack had become a double liability. Oh well, I will keep looking.

Sunday Service

The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain's crest;

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don't know how to rest.



If they just went straight they might go far;

They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of the things that are,

And they want the strange and new.

They say: "Could I find my proper groove,

What a deep mark I would make!"

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake.



And each forgets, as he strips and runs

With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

In the glare of the truth at last.



He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;

He has just done things by half.

Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

He was never meant to win;

He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

He's a man who won't fit in.

From Spell of the Yukon by Robert Service

Weekend Steam

Nice Rings

Count the rings on this oak stump and think about what you have been told about trees all your life. This tree popped up in an abandoned pasture sometime after World War II, and is only about fifty years old. Whenever I am visiting a school I can count on the teacher to tell the kids that it takes a long time to grow a tree, and then I have to get on my soap box. The truth is that trees grow faster than most people think. The misconception that trees take forever to grow discourages most landowners from trying to manage their timber. Another misconception landowners have is that their trees are not worth anything. This second idea causes landowners to market their timber poorly; often they practically give it away.

This oak tree grew on an unremarkable upland site, and yet it made a very good showing. It had some physical problems, as old field pioneers often do, so it was selected for harvest. The trees left to grow on this site are all of higher quality. The important point to note is that you can start from scratch and produce timber in your lifetime.

Be sure to look at the slide shows in the previous posts which show the various cuts needed to fall a tree. You will see the cuts being demonstrated on the stump of a pitch pine tree which died due to storm damage. This tree was planted in 1940, and the lady who planted it watched as it was turned into lumber. Here are a few pictures of that event.

Landowners who work with their trees regularly find that it is difficult to keep up with the changes in their timber. I still feel a bit of amazement when I cut trees for firewood that The Mrs. and I planted; we have even cut lumber out of a few.

Who Could Ask For Anything More?

That is a happy little worm!

Pearl Harbor Day

Go here if you missed this in the news. http://www.ussoklahoma.com

Falling a Tree: The Open Face Cuts and Hinging

Falling trees and bucking logs are activities that have inherent risks. The methods you use when performing these tasks can dramatically increase or decrease your risk of being injured or killed. The most important step in preventing problems is committing to developing a plan for every tree you cut. If you don't have a plan, everything that happens becomes an accident; so here are your planning steps, and a slide show demonstrating the cuts to make in aiming a tree you are going to fall.

1. Look for safety issues around the tree you are cutting. Downed limbs, vines, brush, dead wood and widow makers overhead, power lines, and anything you can identify as a possible hazard. You have to mitigate your hazards before you start cutting. Sometimes you walk away and leave the tree for someone with a bucket truck.

2. Determine your aiming point. This is done by walking to the spot you want the tree to fall and looking back at the tree. If the tree is vertical in relation to you, you will aim straight on for this spot. You will need to change your aiming spot if the tree has side lean. Point up at a 45 degree angle into the tree and determine how much the trunk/crown lies off a vertical line from the center of the stump. You will move your aiming spot an equal distance in the opposite direction. Put a stick in the ground to mark the spot. The hinge will fail if the tree has significant side lean. If this is the case, find another direction to fall the tree and do this step again. You can handle more forward lean and back lean than you can side lean.

3. Determine your escape routes from the stump you are about to create. Your escape route should be on a line 45 degrees off of the fall line of the tree. (135 degrees from the direction the tree will fall.) Clear out any obstacles that might trip you or block you from making an efficient move away from the stump. You MUST get beyond a 12 foot radius as quickly as possible when the tree begins to fall. Ninety percent of injuries and deaths occur within that 12 foot radius, so distance is your friend. If you can dodge behind another tree, so much the better. Wood often comes raining down from the treetops when trees move, so get out of the circle, and stay out until things settle down.

4. Make your open face cuts to aim the tree. You aim the tree with the first cut, and your aiming aid is the line across the top of the saw. Line up your eye behind this line and point it at the stick you put at the aiming spot. Cut down on the face of the tree until the bottom of the cut is 80% of the tree diameter. If the tree has much side lean, you will want to make the hinge 90% or 100% of the tree diameter. A pocket size tape measure with a diamater scale on the back is a handy item to have in setting up this cut. Your second cut is made by cutting in horizontally and meeting the bottom of the first cut. Remove the wood and inspect the junction of your cuts. The cuts should meet exactly. If either cut passes the other by 1/2 inch or more, clean it up so they match. The angle between these cuts should be 70 to 90 degrees. This wide angle allows the tree to fall to the ground with the hinge holding the tree to the stump.

5. The final step is establishing a hinge, releasing the tree, and wedging if the tree is not balanced forward. Begin your back cuts on the bad side of the tree; that is the heavy side. You will complete your cuts from the good side of the tree. You start by determining your hinge thickness. The hinge thickness should be no more than 10 percent of the diameter at breast height. Begin the cut with the lower corner of the bar and bury the nose of the bar, then rotate your saw until the bar runs parallel to the open face cut. With the saw running wide open you push the saw through the tree while staying on track to make the hinge the correct thickness. When you have the saw all the way in you will then cut toward the back of the tree, but stop and leave a strap of wood holding the tree. If your saw did not reach all the way through the tree you will repeat this operation from the other side. Set a wedge in the back cut unless you are sure that the tree has forward weight. This will prevent your saw being trapped. When you are satisfied with your setup, make sure everyone is out of the way, cut the back strap, and make your escape. Use your wedges to tip the tree if it does not go on its own.

Remember when making these cuts that the hinge should be no more than 10% of the tree diameter in thickness, and should be at least 80% of the tree diameter in length. Boring cuts are always started with the bottom corner of the chainsaw bar. Stop and look around before you cut the backstrap. Make sure no persons or pets have wandered in while you had your head down making your cuts. Make your escape when the tree begins to go.

Always wear boots, chainsaw chaps or overalls, hard hat, ear, eye, and face protection when running your saw. Activate the brake if you are taking over two steps.



After watching this video, click on the "chainsaw" label to bring up other videos about using a chainsaw.

For Extreme Leaners, CLICK HERE.   And HERE.

Ain't Misbehavin'

Now, THAT'S a DOUGHNUT!

During the summer of 2006 I had the good fortune to spend a couple of weeks at Orr, (Say it like a pirate!) Minnesota. While at Orr, I usually ate at this very nice local eatery.



In addition to great breakfasts, lunches and suppers, Sandy turns out those most amazing doughnuts. They are as big as a wheelbarrow tire and can feed three people. I was a bad boy, and even with lots of physical activity, I gained five pounds during those two weeks. A cop probably wouldn't survive a year. Since being in Orr, I haven't touched a doughnut...what would be the point after having the best? If you are in Northern Minnesota, be sure to drop by Orr for a treat.

The lovely Sandy and her daughter.

Saint Andrew's Day

Saint Andrew's Day is November 30, and even if you are not Scottish, it is a good excuse for a holiday season party. ( The flag of Scotland is the Cross of St. Andrew, and this is widely displayed as a symbol of national identity.) Because Andrew is the Patron Saint of Scotland, a proper celebration should have bagpipes, Scotch Whisky, and haggis. If you are apprehensive about haggis, at least make a meatloaf with both cut and rolled oats instead of bread for the filler.

My favorite poet, Robert Service, gets little or no respect from Professors of English; I think because he was a Scot, and possibly because he actually made a living writing poetry. In his collection of Bar-Room Ballads, published in 1940, Mr. Service uses the term Sassenach twice in one of his poems. This word is a Scottish/Gaelic term derived from an early word for Saxon. It is a somewhat derogatory term for anything English. Use of this word may be one of the reasons this successful and entertaining writer is still being snubbed for all of his works except for a few early poems about the Yukon Gold Rush.

Below is the offending poem; a great story to read with Saint Andrew's Day coming up. Now pour a glass of good Scotch, crank up a CD of bagpipes, and enjoy a good story.


The Ballad of How MacPherson Held the Floor

Said President MacConnachie to Treasurer MacCall:
"We ought to have a piper for our next Saint Andrew's Ball.
Yon squakin' saxophone gives me the syncopated gripes.
I'm sick of jazz, I want to hear the skirling of the pipes."
"Alas! it's true," said Tam MacCall. "The young folk of to-day
Are fox-trot mad and dinna ken a reel from a Strathspey.
Now, what we want's a kiltie lad, primed up wi' mountain dew,
To strut the floor at supper time, and play a lilt or two.
In all the North there's only one; of him I've heard them speak:
His name is Jock MacPherson, and he lives on Boulder Creek;
An old-time hard-rock miner, and a wild and wastrel loon,
Who spends his nights in glory, playing pibrochs to the moon.
I'll seek him out; beyond a doubt on next Saint Andrew's night
We'll proudly hear the pipes to cheer and charm our appetite.


Oh lads were neat and lassies sweet who graced Saint Andrew's Ball;
But there was none so full of fun as Treasurer MacCall.
And as Maloney's rag-time band struck up the newest hit,
He smiled a smile behind his hand, and chuckled: "Wait a bit."
And so with many a Celtic snort, with malice in his eye,
He watched the merry crowd cavort, till supper time drew nigh.
Then gleefully he seemed to steal, and sought the Nugget Bar,
Wherein there sat a tartaned chiel, as lonely as a star;
A huge and hairy Highlandman as hearty as a breeze,
A glass of whisky in his hand, his bag-pipes on his knees.
"Drink down your doch and doris, Jock," cried Treasurer MacCall;
"The time is ripe to up and pipe; they wait you in the hall.
Gird up your loins and grit your teeth, and here's a pint of hooch
To mind you of your native heath - jist pit it in your pooch.
Play on and on for all you're worth; you'll shame us if you stop.
Remember you're of Scottish birth - keep piping till you drop.
Aye, though a bunch of Willie boys should bluster and implore,
For the glory of the Highlands, lad, you've got to hold the floor."
The dancers were at supper, and the tables groaned with cheer,
When President MacConnachie exclaimed: "What do I hear?
Methinks it's like a chanter, and its coming from the hall."
"It's Jock MacPherson tuning up," cried Treasurer MacCall.
So up they jumped with shouts of glee, and gaily hurried forth.
Said they: "We never thought to see a piper in the North."
Aye, all the lads and lassies braw went buzzing out like bees,
And Jock MacPherson there they saw, with red and rugged knees.
Full six foot four he strode the floor, a grizzled son of Skye,
With glory in his whiskers and with whisky in his eye.
With skelping stride and Scottish pride he towered above them all:
"And is he no' a bonny sight?" said Treasurer MacCall.
While President MacConnachie was fairly daft with glee,
And there was jubilation in the Scottish Commy-tee.
But the dancers seemed uncertain, and they signified their doubt,
By dashing back to eat as fast as they had darted out.
And someone raised the question 'twixt the coffee and the cakes:
"Does the Piper walk to get away from all the noise he makes?"
Then reinforced with fancy food they slowly trickled forth,
And watching in patronizing mood the Piper of the North.

Proud, proud was Jock MacPherson, as he made his bag-pipes skirl,
And he set his sporran swinging, and he gave his kilts a whirl.
And President MacConnachie was jumping like a flea,
And there was joy and rapture in the Scottish Commy-tee.
"Jist let them have their saxophones wi' constipated squall;
We're having Heaven's music now," said Treasurer MacCall.
But the dancers waxed impatient, and they rather seemed to fret
For Maloney and the jazz of his Hibernian Quartette.
Yet little recked the Piper, as he swung with head on high,
Lamenting with MacCrimmon on the heather hills of Skye.
With Highland passion in his heart he held the centre floor;
Aye, Jock MacPherson played as he had never played before.

Maloney's Irish melodists were sitting in their place,
And as Maloney waited, there was wonder in his face.
'Twas sure the gorgeous music - Golly! wouldn't it be grand
If he could get MacPherson as a member of his band?
But the dancers moped and mumbled, as around the room they sat:
"We paid to dance," they grumbled; "But we cannot dance to that.
Of course we're not denying that it's really splendid stuff;
But it's mighty satisfying - don't you think we've had enough?"
"You've raised a pretty problem," answered Treasurer MacCall;
"For on Saint Andrew's Night, ye ken, the Piper rules the Ball.
"Said President MacConnachie: "You've said a solemn thing.
Tradition holds him sacred, and he's got to have his fling.
But soon, no doubt, he'll weary out. Have patience; bide a wee."
"That's right. Respect the Piper," said the Scottish Commy-tee.

And so MacPherson stalked the floor, and fast the moments flew,
Till half an hour went past, as irritation grew and grew.
The dancers held a council, and with faces fiercely set,
They hailed Maloney, heading his Hibernian Quartette:
"It's long enough, we've waited. Come on, Mike, play up the Blues.
"And Maloney hesitated, but he didn't dare refuse.
So banjo and piano, and guitar and saxophone
Contended with the shrilling of the chanter and the drone;
And the women's ears were muffled, so infernal was the din,
But MacPherson was unruffled, for he knew that he would win.
Then two bright boys jazzed round him, and they sought to play the clown,
But MacPherson jolted sideways, and the Sassenachs went down.
And as if it was a signal, with a wild and angry roar,
The gates of wrath were riven - yet MacPherson held the floor.

Aye, amid the rising tumult, still he strode with head on high,
With ribbands gaily streaming, yet with battle in his eye.
Amid the storm that gathered, still he stalked with Highland pride,
While President and Treasurer sprang bravely to his side.
And with ire and indignation that was glorious to see,
Around him in a body ringed the Scottish Commy-tee.
Their teeth were clenched with fury; their eyes with anger blazed:
"Ye manna touch the Piper," was the slogan that they raised.
Then blows were struck, and men went down; yet 'mid the rising fray
MacPherson towered in triumph - and he never ceased to play.

Alas! his faithful followers were but a gallant few,
And faced defeat, although they fought with all the skill they knew.
For President MacConnachie was seen to slip and fall,
And o'er his prostrate body stumbled Treasurer MacCall.
And as their foes with triumph roared, and leagured them about,
It looked as if their little band would soon be counted out.
For eyes were black and noses red, yet on that field of gore,
As resolute as Highland rock - MacPherson held the floor.

Maloney watched the battle, and his brows were bleakly set,
While with him paused and panted his Hibernian Quartette.
For sure it is an evil spite, and breaking to the heart,
For Irishmen to watch a fight and not be taking part.
Then suddenly on high he soared, and tightened up his belt:
"And shall we see them crush," he roared, "a brother and a Celt?
A fellow artiste needs our aid. Come on, boys, take a hand."
Then down into the mêlée dashed Maloney and his band.

Now though it was Saint Andrew's Ball, yet men of every race,
That bow before the Great God Jazz were gathered in that place.
Yea, there were those who grunt: "Ya! Ya!" and those who squeak: "We! We!"
Likewise Dutch, Dago, Swede and Finn, Polack and Portugee.
Yet like ripe grain before the gale that national hotch-potch
Went down before the fury of the Irish and the Scotch.
Aye, though they closed their gaping ranks and rallied to the fray,
To the Shamrock and the Thistle went the glory of the day.

You should have seen the carnage in the drooling light of dawn,
Yet 'mid the scene of slaughter Jock MacPherson playing on.
Though all lay low about him, yet he held his head on high,
And piped as if he stood upon the caller crags of Skye.
His face was grim as granite, and no favour did he ask,
Though weary were his mighty lungs and empty was his flask.
And when a fallen foe wailed out: "Say! when will you have done?"
MacPherson grinned and answered: "Hoots! She's only haf' begun."
Aye, though his hands were bloody, and his knees were gay with gore,
A Grampian of Highland pride - MacPherson held the floor.

And still in Yukon valleys where the silent peaks look down,
They tell of how the Piper was invited up to town,
And he went in kilted glory, and he piped before them all,
But wouldn't stop his piping till he busted up the Ball.
Of that Homeric scrap they speak, and how the fight went on,
With sally and with rally till the breaking of the dawn.
And how the Piper towered like a rock amid the fray,
And the battle surged about him, but he never ceased to play.
Aye, by the lonely camp-fires, still they tell the story o'er-
How the Sassenach was vanquished and - MacPherson held the floor.

Mmmmmm.....Holiday Treats

King Arthur Scone Mix from the Discount Grocery.