Grouse Hollow Journal March 30, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal March 30, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Trees

I think that I shall never see   
A poem lovely as a tree.   
  
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest   
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;   
  
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;   
  
A tree that may in summer wear   
A nest of robins in her hair;   
  
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;   
Who intimately lives with rain.
  
Poems are made by fools like me,   
But only God can make a tree.                       By Joyce Kilmer

We have always loved trees.  They help us celebrate holidays, warm our hearths, trim and decorate our rooms after they helped build our homes.  There is nothing like an aromatic cedar board for grilling, or for making long-lasting outdoor items including the many, many split rail fence posts in fence rows all over our land.  One enjoys the walnut wood work on fine rifle or shotgun, cherry cupboards and oak staircase and picture frames or the huge oak logs from the original 1877 cabin that are exposed in our family room.  This list could go on and on.     

Anyway, much of my life has been spent around and in trees, and sometime out of my tree so I have been told.  Anyway, I remember the first important tree in my life was a pear tree that grew in my Grandma Potter’s front yard fence line.  We could climb up woven wire onto an old oak beam that help brace the fence.  We played games, picked green pears and tossed them at grandma’s chickens, checked out bird nests, and hid from each other and adults looking for us. I fell out of that tree more than once - hmmm. . . that may explain a lot.  Anyway, like my grandma’s house, that tree lost life and was cut up many years ago.  We used to sit on Sundays in the shade of the huge old oak in front of my Grandpa Koelker’s farm house while he grilled dinner in their outdoor fireplace. I remember one day when my sister Diane and cousin Deb were baby sitting their siblings under that tree when the girls started screaming.  They were going to ride their bikes and discovered or were discovered by a big old rattlesnake coiled up under spokes.  Farm hand Freddie Hafel grabbed a hoe and dispatched that snake, but I am not sure those girls would ever feel good under that tree again.  Freddie was shaken so much that I imagine he was dreaming about that snake that day he passed.  That huge tree still grows there, but with a cable tied up in the tree and anchored against a fall into the house.   

Ellen and I don’t need to cut firewood for heating anymore, but we cut a little birch and cedar once in awhile for the fire pit and fireplace.  We used to go all over the woods and along fence rows cutting dead elms and downed hardwoods to load the pickup many times to feed Big Red.  Now we just cut trees to clear paths or clean up downfalls.  I kind of like running a sharp saw on a cool morning.  The smell of sweet sawdust blends with the slightly acrid exhaust from a snarling Stihl and the smell of disturbed earth and leaves. The exercise is honest while the woods seem a little neater with the dropped tree cleaned up and a rank of good firewood stacked in the shed is rewarding too.

Speaking of cleaning up, the other day we saw Terry and Jim, our town road crew cutting down trees, ash trees mostly up on Mohawk Valley Hill.  Those trees could fall on the road as they rotted and got caught up in the next big wind storm.  All over our farm and our coulee, there are dead Ash Trees, victim of the emerald ash borer.  In one area in the Grouse Hollow one can stand in the middle of a grove and not take a step and count at least 20 standing but dead ash trees.  One can pick them out easily; just look for trees where the bark has faded to a beige color and appears to be falling off.  These were nice trees.   

Until next time, get out - Saturday is April Fool’s Day.  Nuf said.  Enjoy or watch out!