When writing scientifically, one must be careful not to anthropomorphize the critter under discussion. In other words, don’t use human feelings to interpret what is going on in the head of an animal.
Oh sure, we all do it with our pet dogs and cats (for evidence of this just view any number of reels on Facebook to hear human words injected onto scenes of lounging cats or rambunctious dogs… although, admittedly, they are funny).
This column is about trees, more specifically trees that have been planted with intent and purpose. Trees that need a lot of attention and fussing over. To avoid the above anthropomorphing (love that word) I will not interpret how the tree feels about my pruning and thinning operations, but I will instead share with you what goes on in my head in regards to convincing these plants to “shape up or get shipped out.”
Just like our school system, youngsters are brought in from the nursery at a tender age of one or two. Bundled tightly together, they are indistinguishable one from another, kind of like JK kids in snowsuits. With a bit of fussing, they are separated and planted in a nice straight row (the seedlings, not the JK kids).
For the next year or two, great anxiety is felt as to whether or not they get enough water, enough — but not too much — sunlight, and whether or not they will learn to take in minerals from the soil. Most do, but some fail miserably, like the child refusing to eat any of the good things offered to them.
Then comes the Grade 3 equivalent, as the trees are now growing on their own but still need a bit of oversight. Some are showing signs of weakness, with light coloured needles or droopy branches. It seems too early and unjust to thin them out, so they are left with hopes they will recover and join their healthy row of siblings.
Now we get to the Grade 5 level, where it is obvious some troublemakers need to be taken aside. Unfortunate, yes, but I can tolerate only so much disturbance in the uniform green pattern of nice straight rows. And so the deed is done, and the survivors look absolutely fantastic. So proud.
Around the Grade 10 equivalent, there can be seen groups of trees that seem to be sharing the benefits of good soil or have developed a few maladies with their buddies. A fatal disease called white pine blister rust has been spreading tree to tree, being transferred along that nice straight line of branches that touch tip to tip.
The dead and dying pines are removed, and further research shows that the bad guys that hang out around the edges, gooseberries, also have to be kicked out of the neighbourhood, as they push the deadly blister rust spores onto the unsuspecting pines. Grrr.
Now, if you have ever had to deal with a teenage boy with a mop of hair that he refuses to cut, but you just know how much better he would look if this was done, you are akin to the forester who needs to conduct a pruning of dead branches. It takes a bit of cajoling and a pile of hard work, but the result is a very clean looking row of trees.
With these distracting branches out of the way, more sunlight reaches the forest floor and wildflowers and other seedlings have a chance to begin setting their own roots.
Now we jump ahead a couple years and its high school graduation time, as the once cute and cozy trees are now much too close to each other for a good distribution of water, sunlight and nutrients. And their close-knit buddy-gangs are shading out the forest floor, making new growth all but impossible for a new generation.
Just like the high school cliques we had to endure, there comes a time to move the plan ahead by breaking up this close knit cluster of adolescent trees. This process is called thinning. I look at it as determining who goes to college and who does not.
Thinning is the carefully planned removal of about one-third of the trees, taking out those who are disease ravaged, have grown with twisted trunks, or have suffered weather related broken branches.
One has to be a bit hard-hearted to do this task, especially with rows of trees that have been maintained for many years under a close protective eye. This is why you do not give your trees names.
Soon the trees are off to college, growing on their own, now being too big for me have much influence on their growth. Will they continue to grow straight and tall? Will some horrific weather event tear them asunder? I can but walk in their shade and keep an eye on how they are doing.
Eventually, with a bit of luck, these trees will reach maturity and hopefully fulfill their full potential. Will they be reproductive? Will they support the nest of a great horned owl? Will they become lumber for picnic table? The crystal ball gets hazy.
Later today I will continue with some pruning and the occasional thinning of my adolescent stand of pines. With a sharp pair of loppers and a full tank in the chainsaw I will focus on the job at hand, and try not to reflect too deeply as Chad, Billy, Wilma, Betsy-sue and Lars are taken aside for the betterment of the plantation.
