Fallen Oak

Every year since 2007, we've walked to the back of the property in early fall. But this year we were busy building, and we skipped that walk.

In retrospect, what a blessing.

With Phil's recovering finger, we've talked about the next stages of building. Once the block is done, then comes roofing and flooring, and then framing. While we have no capacity to create concrete blocks on the farm, we could potentially saw lumber for joists and such: it's just a matter of time.

And since time always feels in short supply, I was leaning towards purchasing lumber.

As we look ahead to the various expenses we might yet incur, though, the option to saw our own lumber started to look more appealing.

Then I looked at flooring, too. I had it in my mind, vaguely, that I'd heard some ad on the radio for wood flooring that starts at $2.99/foot. But when I went to look at actual prices, I realized it was more like $5/foot for the board, and then up to another $10 for installation. That starts to be real money!

How to avoid a five figure expense?

If we think that Phil would like to lumberjack for a living (which, the more I think about it, the more I like it), we would need to put in a solar kiln to dry the wood below the ambient air humidity. I think wood here naturally goes to about 12% humidity, which is fine for wood framing, but to put in a floor, the wood needs to be at 6%. Two or three weeks in a solar kiln gets it that dry, and by all accounts the wood turns out better via the solar method than an industrial method.

All of this information was knocking around in my mind. It's like planning a family vacation or doing Sudoku: which piece fits where and when?

Yesterday, while I folded laundry for a few hours, Phil hiked to the back of the property for the first time in many months.

He came back, shocked. At least ten large oaks had fallen, probably from our tremendous wind storm in June. They didn't snap off: they fell over from the roots up.

This is partially preserving them: they aren't flat on the ground, but rest, like an open umbrella, with their round root ball now vertical and their crown on the ground. The bulk of the tree is suspended, safe for a short time more from decay.

Getting the oaks out and turning them to lumber just became a high priority. When he went back today, he counted 16 downed oaks, the smallest diameter 18", the largest 30". Because this property has been logged in the past, there are access roads that would require minimal clearing to get to these behemoths.

I have asked God (as, perhaps, have you) to show me what will grow here. How can we earn a living from this ground?

When we had exhausted what felt like every other possible solution from dairying to market gardening, from bees to pigs, Phil broke his finger. That freed up his time to research a forester who is making his forest pay. It freed up my mental space to look at what we're doing to see how well it's working (or not). And it released me from the pressure to hurry, hurry, hurry on the building. It will finish in God's time.

If Phil needs a week or two to rest his finger, we're thankful it's not an eye or a heart. If we need a month or two to skid lumber and saw it, that may be a better return on time than anything else we've done thus far.

If we had walked in early fall, I would have been furious to see those downed trees. "Here is yet another thing to keep us from building! Here is more waste! Nothing ever goes right! Argh!"

But to find them at the very time we were just starting to think about the feasibility of sawyering (perhaps along with fruit trees, bees, and beef) ... that feels like direction.

And I'd prefer direction to fury any day.

For me, it's another Thanksgiving.