Slash and Burn Agriculture

Phil and I were working on our augered tree-holes when Michelle Bessette drove up to deliver some apples. “It’s a raw day today—I’m impressed you’re outside working!” she said.

But work outside we did. We have 80 tree holes augered, out of about 400 trees total. We’ll see if we like the 3-foot-deep method. So far, it’s been a huge time, money, and emotional energy sink. I may have mentioned that, as we augered, Phil hit perched water about two feet down, which means that the holes filled with water that had run in sheets beneath the surface. Strangely, one hole will have 18 inches of water, and six feet away, the next hole will have none. It’s very odd.

It’s also very wet. We don’t think that the water is like that at all times, since otherwise our land would be basically a swamp. But since we got more than an entire year’s worth of snowfall at one time, and since the weather has not made it much above freezing since then, the major precipitation isn’t going anywhere.

As part of the tree-planting method, we’re sinking drainage tile (basically ugly black corrugated plastic tubing, about 4 inches in diameter, with slits on all sides) into the hole in hopes of introducing some air underground. Does this change the barometric pressure? I don’t know. But since we have so much water in the holes, the tiles aren’t sinking; they’re floating. And does it do any good to have drainage tiles to introduce air if they’re placed in six inches of water? Will it do good eventually? We have no idea.

After the puzzling drainage tile issue, we scatter about five pounds of our leftover mineral mix (mostly soft rock phosphate and limestone, with some other smaller things thrown in) on the subsoil around the hole, then shovel it back in.

The next step I assumed would be no problem: we’re supposed to add a layer of pebbles or rocks, about 1” thick. This is supposed to concentrate the magnetic force and enhance growth. Perhaps that sounds kooky, but I think that it makes sense. We’re coming from BOULDER, and Boulder has its name for good reason: it’s not lacking rocks.

Apparently, though, central Virginia is. As Phil shoveled subsoil and topsoil back into the hole, I watched diligently for rocks. Sure, we uncovered a few, but nowhere near enough to make a 1” layer. So it looks like we’ll need a few truckloads of gravel. Thankfully, gravel isn’t too expensive. But it is another thing to deal with.

Absurdly, backfilling seven holes one foot deep took us until early afternoon. So much discussion; so many decisions; so much angst. Learning new things certainly stretches us. And after seven holes, Phil quit for the day: the incredible water seepage wore him down. It could be that it will drown our trees, too. That’s a bummer for sure.

After that, we continued working on clearing by hand. And I had a sudden realization why Dennis Bessette has said repeatedly, “Just burn the brush piles.” I don’t want to burn anything: everything that grows is a product of the minerals in the soil, the sun and the rain that the Lord sends.

But today I faced the economics of brush disposal. To rent an industrial chipper: say, $1800. Most of our brush pile is less than 4” in diameter. So we’d be feeding hundreds of tiny trees into the chipper one-by-one. So maybe we pay someone to chip. That could work: but then we have major equipment and the expense of hiring. Or maybe we buy a small motor-inclusive chipper for $1800. And spend our precious time chipping hundreds of branches.

Small saplings don’t produce much mulch. I wonder how much mulch we could buy for $1800.

This was all academic, so I don’t have figures to support any way definitively. But I suddenly realized why Dennis says we should burn: if burning ours and buying new costs less than renting or buying chipping equipment, it’s hard to justify not burning.

I felt a new affinity for the farmers in the Amazon practicing slash-and-burn agriculture.

P.S. A note about yesterday’s confusing comment about Isaiah having spent one-third of his life with us: most American teens traditionally leave home around age 18, whether to pursue higher education, missions, employment, or something else. Six years is one-third of the full-time residence Isaiah is likely to have in the Philip Lykosh home. It made Phil and I pensive when Jadon turned six, and it did the same this year with Isaiah. What a glorious time in life to have these little ones in our home. (And, much though I might like to, I cannot claim this profound insight as original. I read it in some parenting book early on in our marriage.)