What the Elder Pine Saw

opening excerpt

Several teeth were broken, rotten with age and the detrimental cocktail of water and air mixed with time and metal. I tentatively ran my finger over them. They didn't feel sharp, but I knew that a few missing teeth would never have stopped it from being used: this saw blade still had plenty of life left.

"Whereabouts did you say you found it again?”

We had a map spread out on the hood of my truck. Blue depicted streams and lakes, little tufts indicated swamp and curvy lines showing how the topography changed.

"We were marking in this area, checking on a stream," Devin said excitedly, pointing. "Not running this time of year, though. Too dry.”

I nodded along with him.

It had been a very hot, dry summer and forest fires were sprouting up like weeds. A carelessly discarded butt along a canoe portage trail could level hectares of healthy forest. The local water bomber flying overhead had become a common sight . Thankfully, we couldn't smell smoke today.

"Well then," I said, folding the map. "Let's go see what we can find.”

As we left the gravel road, we found our compass bearing and started to hike. It was several meters of wading through scruffy balsam fir underlings, sticky and crowding for sunlight, before the forest allowed us entry.

The sap smelled briefly of Christmas; I only hoped none had gotten tangled in my hair.

The canopy of the mature trees rose above us as the undergrowth was left behind. Orange paint rings revealed the recent path of our crew, circling trees carefully selected for removal in the pursuit of sustainability.

We marched past those plagued with cobra cankers and contagious mossy top fungi, all to be cut and hauled away over the next year. The ones left behind outnumbered them; straight, strong and tall, and more importantly ready to drop seeds for future generations.


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Alanna Rusnak

With over eighteen years of design experience, powerful understanding of publishing technology, a passionate love for stories, and a desire to make dreams come true, Alanna Rusnak is your advocate, mentor, friend, cheerleader, and the owner/operator of Chicken House Press.

https://www.chickenhousepress.ca/
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The Direction of Home