This year, we are
putting in a wind break along the west side of our property, where the
wind really gets going. It may take 5-10 years before they are large
enough to defer the wind, but I plan on still being around then. Why not
do it now? If I had done it last year, I’d be one year closer. We’ve got
our first order in to be picked up April 16th. Our ground will still be
frozen, so we’ll have to heel these in for a month or so until we can
break ground.
In our constant
efforts to improve and care for our property, we have planted many a tree,
transplanted all we could “relocate” from places we had to put in roads or
buildings. (In my book, back hoes are a necessity for this – you can’t dig
up a good size Spruce tree by hand in one season.) Not all have survived,
but for those that have taken, we are so pleased to know we gave a second
life for a tree otherwise doomed. And at the same time, have new trees
growing where once there was none.
Years ago, I lived
and worked on another ranch where the land owner committed to planting 150
small trees every year. What a great investment on his part, considering
that he too responsibly harvested timber from his land, and in this way,
ensured the longevity of his woodlot. With a good tree planting tool to
heel in each bare root stock, and a backpack strapped on backward full of
baby trees, planting 150 trees took three of us one afternoon.
Others, with smaller
parcels, can commit to planting one tree a year. At your local nursery,
this would probably cost you between $15 and $50, for a young but well
established tree. If times are especially tough, pass on one year, and
double up the next if you can. With these larger nursery trees, though,
the rewards are faster to see.
Commit to try. Plant
a tree. Now. Some may grow, some may die; such is the life of a tree.
Like anything and everything on the homestead. We can try, we can care
and give it the best start, but we can not completely control nor predict
its path in life.
But we do have to
try. We do have to plant those trees. We do have to share our labors
with those who will come after us as we have been able to enjoy the shade,
and shelter, the fruit, the beauty, and the forever needed fuel because of
those who came before us.
There are long since
many a homesteads that have been abandoned, the dwelling and outbuildings
returned to the ground, skeletal remains of the yards and corrals barely
visible, but the trees still remain. Here in the Rocky Mountains, we have
the shade of the big old Cottonwood along the sides of the creeks
and rivers and ditches to tell us stories of folks who had once called
this place home. Driving through
Texas and Oklahoma and Nebraska, you can see where the drainages are from
far away, and where the old homesteads once were: the trees are big and
full like flags in the distance. In California, I remember coming upon
apple trees, old and twisted and gnarly but still producing, in odd far
off locations. When we look closely, we find evidence of the homestead
that once was there.
For each and all of these old trees, we are thankful
for those who came before us, those who had the foresight to share their
labors, to care enough about the land, to care enough about the future.
And from these lessons, we remember our current obligations. The trees
we plant now are not only for us, for our children, and our children’s
children, but for any who come after us. What a beautiful gift to pass
on. Selfless and thoughtful, full of promise and provision.
