Page 29 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
“Are the Shasta red firs rare?”
I chuckle. “Not rare. Just not here when I want to show one off.” I wink, and she smiles in spite of herself.
“Here in the lower elevations, you’ll also find some deciduous species. Bigleaf maple, vine maple, quaking aspen. Aspens are easy to spot—white bark, blazing yellow in the fall. We’ll pass some later.” I pat the trunk of the tree we’re parked beside. “This here’s a bigleaf maple. Tallest maple species in North America, with—you guessed it—the biggest leaves.”
I pluck a broad green leaf and hand it to her.
“Phew. Didn’t hear it scream,” I add.
“Fuck off,” she mutters, though her lips twitch as she studies the leaf. “It’s really nice. Can I keep it?”
“Take as many as you like.”
“Thanks. Is it used for anything?”
“Oh yeah. Great firewood. But the best of it goes into furniture and musical instruments. Veneers, too. Historically, Native Americans carved paddles from it, made medicine, tools, and containers. Even used the leaves in food prep.”
“Wow. That’s fascinating. You really do know a lot about the trees here.”
“Well, yeah. It’s our job.”
She doesn’t reply to that, but I see her eyes flick toward me, like she’s weighing me up. Assessing. Almost like she’s wondering if the enemy she thought she knew is more complicated than she expected.
Then she looks back at the ATV. “Take me further.”
“Sure thing, Princess. Let’s go.”
We wind through the trees, climbing more steeply now. I’ve got two more stops planned, and the first is just up ahead.
The terrain roughens—deep ruts, fallen timber, jagged rocks. The quad bucks and jolts beneath us, suspension groaning as we bounce along. The track narrows and darkens, thick conifers hemming us in on either side. This is one of the managed sections of woodland, and here the trees rise in disciplined ranks. But even here, it isn’t just a single crop of clones.
One of McKenzie Forestry’s mottos is Strength in Diversity. It’s more than a slogan—it’s the principle we live by. We don’t plant row after row of one species. We mix it up. Different trees pull different nutrients from the soil at different times, which helps the earth recover faster. The mix also keeps disease from spreading like wildfire, supports wildlife, improves yield per acre, and, yeah, it looks better too. So really, everyone wins.
Just when it feels like the trail can’t get any gloomier, we burst into sunlight. I park the quad and pull off my helmet, dismounting and stretching my limbs as I do so. Luna follows, shaking out her pink hair as she looks around.
“I wanted you to see this,” I say. “Luke mentioned it when you two were bickering in the kitchen, but trust me—this is the kind of thing you need to see with your own eyes, not just hear about from some ugly brute with a chainsaw.” I sweep my arm wide. “So… here we are. Ta-da.”
She turns—and gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth.
Stretching out beneath us, rolling away down the slope, is acre after acre of young saplings. Tens of thousands of them, apatchwork of Douglas fir, larch, and Western red cedar. Each one set into its own hole, a pinch of fertilizer beneath, a clear biodegradable guard around the trunk to keep deer and critters from nibbling them to death.
“There are about two hundred thousand trees in this stand alone,” I tell her. “What do you think?”
She stares, silent, her hand still pressed against her lips. The breeze lifts her hair, her eyes wide and shining. Finally, she turns to me.
“You planted all these?”
“Well, not just me. But between me and the boys? Yeah. This is what we do.”
She just stands there, awestruck, like she’s seeing the forest—and maybe us—in a new light.
“So?” I prompt. “What do you think?”
Her voice comes out hushed. “It’s… oh, Toby, it’s just wonderful.”
She suddenly throws her arms around me, laughing. I can’t help it—I scoop her up and spin her once before setting her back down gently. Her face is flushed, her eyes sparkling. She’s clearly blown away. She should be—this stand damn near broke our backs.
“Okay, Princess Luna,” I say, handing her the helmet again. “Get that back on. We've one more stop to make.”
