The Cathedral

It was a glorious day to be outside in central Alabama: blue skies, a nice breeze, and temperatures that topped out at about 70 degrees. It was the kind of day that makes me wish that every day could be this way, but such conditions are rare in a State where the temperature can vary 40 degrees in a 24 hour period.

I spent my time conducting a timber appraisal in one of the prettiest spots around these parts--the "Big Swamp," an area of old growth hardwood timber in Macon County. By "old growth" I mean that the trees were 80 to 100 years old. That's about as old as you can find in most of the South, where we are on our third or fourth forest since the white man first arrived.

The trees on this land were large hardwoods--larger than a hillbilly forester like me normally encounter. Many were large enough in girth that two people could not reach around them, and some were well over 100 feet tall. There were species that I don't normally see in my work in the upland forest: cherry bark oak, swamp chestnut oak, green ash, basswood, and even a common persimmon that was big enough to cut lumber from. Nary a pine tree in sight.

Now I have never been to the great cathedrals of Europe, but I cannot believe they would be any more glorious than such a hardwood bottom. Shafts of sunlight filter through the heavy tree canopy like light through stained glass windows. It is a place of such beauty that it almost makes me forget that I am there to work. There is a nagging feeling that I should pay to see this rather than get paid for being here.

Such a forest is never quiet. There is a constant chatter of birds, many whose songs I don't recognize. There are the ever present crows, constantly cawing to each other over my presence, and several times I heard the monkey-like call of the giant pileated woodpecker--the one the old Black folks call the "Lord God" woodpecker in the rural South. As big as a hawk, it hammers away on the big trees in search of insects.

Of course, there is danger too. Wild hog sign is everywhere, the ground rooted-up and turned over in areas as big as a swimming pool. I am thankful that I don't run into a big boar or a over-protective sow with a litter of pigs, as my tree climbing skills aren't what they used to be. There are rattlesnakes and cottonmouth moccasins here too, but on this day they are too well-camouflaged on the dark leaves for me to notice. Or perhaps it is just my lucky day.

The owner of the property that I am appraising has made a nice living over the last fifteen years, selling deer and hog hunts to Yankees with fat wallets who want to have the "Southern" hunting experience. For one thousand dollars a day, a man can eat fried chicken, squash casserole, cheese grits, and corn bread, and have a chance to kill a nice "trophy." Maybe even have a nice shot of fine Southern Bourbon whiskey and a fat cigar after dinner. In the dawn's early light, a good old southern boy will take him to the tree stand and tell him some stories or jokes in a soft southern drawl to get him in the mood for the day's adventure. It is designed to meet expectations: the authentic Old South--a story he can tell his fellow stockbrokers back in the Big Apple.

But times have been hard the last three years, and bookings are way down. It has become increasingly difficult to separate gullible Yankees from their wallets. Nostalgia ain't what it used to be in the new economy.

As a result, the beautiful old hardwood timber may be sold and cut. There are always bills to pay in any economy, and sometimes when the music stops you must still keep dancing.

I would hate to see this cathedral come down. It's enough to make this forester a real tree-hugger.