A BEGINNER IN FORESTRY 



By ANNE WARNER 



Paper Two 



I BEGIN to wonder if, in the caring 

 for trees so that they may produce 

 railroad ties, houses, and other 

 truly artificial necessaries, we haven't 

 lost sight of the whole basic principle 

 of Forestry, The real need of trees 

 is so that weary mortals may get out 

 of houses and off of railroad ties, and 

 back to one of the greatest pleasures 

 of life — the pleasure of just being 

 alive — the pleasure of becommg a 

 child in heart — the pleasure of being 

 happy without knowing why. 



The place where I am is small, not 

 much frequented, totally ignored by 

 Herr Baedecker, and the most of the 

 inhabitants of the village are the sim- 

 plest peasant folk, men and women who 

 work in the fields and go home at night 

 in long, uneven ranks, seven or eight 

 together, each carrying his or her rake, 

 hoe, or shovel. There is a domain, or 

 large landed estate, and the woods be- 

 longing to the estate come as strictly 

 under the forester's rule as if they 

 were government property. The whole 

 countryside is covered with beautiful 

 forests — mainly "self-planted." The 

 forester has explained to me that, when 

 there is a good growth of young trees 

 after the cut, they let them alone, only 

 concerning themselves with the thin 

 places or the places where the soil is 

 evidently not fitted for the young trees 

 springing there. The soil in this vi- 

 cinity is chalky and the lay of the land 

 makes me want to study geology — 

 when I don't want to study mush- 

 rooms, botany, astronomy, or any other 

 one of the new-old primitive sciences 

 which press powerfully to the fore 

 when one comes under the forest's 

 scepter. 



6i8 . 



The desire to know the answer to 

 the riddle is that the riddle here is so 

 big. The great plain of Northern Ger- 

 many lies straight outspread beyond 

 me as I write. Wide and flat, dotted 

 with villages, fertile, with rich upper 

 soil. The ocean once rolled to the foot 

 of this hillside, and, ages earlier, all 

 the rocks of which the hill and all 

 those around are made, was formed in 

 its depths. Now, this is the riddle : 

 All the rocks are strata, plainly de- 

 fined, and without exception they are 

 all tipped almost perpendicularly on 

 end. The slant is invariable, and the 

 ends of the strata have a sharp little 

 twist just beneath the soil. The soil 

 on these rocks is only one or two feet 

 deep and is first sand and then the rich 

 black of vegetation. Such a big riddle 

 to me. 



The foresters interest me greatly. 

 Men who care for the growth of 150 

 years and who cherish the life in that 

 which will come to its end in 2050 or 

 thereabouts, must have some traits 

 which any American may well find in- 

 terest in studying. The forester here 

 tells me that he loves his vocation, and 

 I can understand that no man would 

 choose it who did not love it, because of 

 all vocations it would be the least pos- 

 sible to give a living to an indifferent 

 follower. I went with him the other 

 day to see his knife mark out the su- 

 perfluous saplings and I soon learned 

 the two rules that saved or condemned : 

 health at the root, and whether or not 

 the young top formed part of the cover 

 overhead. The cover overhead must 

 be continuous or else grass grows be- 

 neath, and grass is not allowed in Ger- 

 man forests. I mean, of course, as a 

 general thing — there are large open 



