This week, as I was walking one of the trails behind my house, I came to this behemoth hanging over the path. This downed tree isn't new: it's been there for months. At first, I had to walk around it, which involved a lot of bushwhacking, but then one of my wonderful neighbors went out with a saw and cut off all the limbs. Now, I can duck underneath. (It's not a very deep duck, either. This is a BIG tree, and the space beneath it is close to 5'.)
The fact that this tree is still crossing my trail got me thinking, and those thoughts are going to turn into this rant, for which I apologize in advance.
Luis Gonzales in Primera Agua, near Tijeras. Courtesy of East Mountain Historical Society archives. The trail beneath this tree is so wide because it wasn't always a trail. More than a hundred years ago, this trail was a wagon road. Back when the little village of Madera was just downhill from where I live, this road was used by men who cut timber in this canyon. That's where the canyon and the village got their name: Madera is Spanish for lumber. Later, the road was probably used for mining.
Signs of old logging are evident throughout my neighborhood and the surrounding woods. Walk anywhere, and you're likely to find piles of old branches that are definitely not just windfall. Their larger ends bear evidence having been sawed, not broken off the tree. It may seem surprising that these limbs might be over a hundred years old, but this is dry country, and wood doesn't decay quickly here. I've been passing some of these wood piles since 2001, and I've seen very little change in them. Walk 20 feet from any of these piles and you will find evidence of an old road.
Timelines of the East Mountains, a huge book put out by the East Mountain Historical Society, states that between 180 and 240 woodcutters worked in the forests that are now part of the Cibola National Forest. In 1937, the Forest Service charged woodcutters 25 cents a cord to harvest the wood if it was to be sold. If it was for personal use, the wood was free. Most of the woodcutters' wagons could hold half a cord. One of those old wagons still rests in my neighborhood.
Drury Sharp lived in the east mountains in the early years of the twentieth century. He remembers joining a train of wood haulers on their way to Albuquerque. The train spent the night in Tijeras Canyon, camping by the side of the road. The men sat around a fire, which customarily was fed by the wood haulers, who took turns throwing in logs from their wagons. Dinner was a communal meal of shared tortillas, coffee boiled in a lard pail, and a frying pan of pinto beans and chili. Most woodcutters made the trip into Albuquerque 40 to 60 times a year, with each of their loads worth between $2 and $3.50.
Despite the fact that wood cutters weren't making huge amounts of money, it's obvious that they took their time doing their job. Even in the places where I find large piles of branches, there are large, old trees standing. It's obvious that the men who worked these mountains never clear cut their trees, but selectively left some for future generations. I believe this kept the forests healthy, giving the trees they left behind more air and sunlight in which to thrive.
Enter the Forest System. It is no longer legal to harvest wood on the forested slopes behind my house, and it needs to be done. In the two decades that I have been walking these trails, I've seen the forest go from a healthy, open forest to one that's choked with downed and dying trees. The bark beetle infestation of the last few decades certainly didn't help; there are some parts of the forest with more dead trees than live ones. But no one is harvesting these downed trees, and they lie across trails, choke streams, and present a real fire danger for the forest and nearby communities.
My middle grade fantasy Raven Quest is based on the history of the village of Madera. In it, the villagers harvest wood from the mountains just as the actual villagers did. Savio, the main character, walks through the same forests that I walk through and he, just and I have, notices the piles of branches and the trees that have been passed over. At one point, he uses a magic lens to see the wood cutters transformed into beavers busily harvesting trees. I think if the beaver people from Raven Quest or the people who lived in the once-thriving village of Madera were to find a tree blocking their path, they would do the right thing: they would cut it up, load it onto their wagons, and haul it out so that it could heat someone's house or be made into roof vigas or furniture. A tree as big as the one I photographed could be turned into many cords of wood. I know of at least one busy beaver neighbor of mine who would be happy to cut this tree up and haul it out, if only he could.
Jennifer Bohnhoff writes books for middle grade through adult readers. You can read more about her book here, on her blog.
