Lament For My Forest Refuge

"Machinery in the middle of the forest can only mean one thing: clearcutting."

The following sad letter is reprinted from The Chronicle Hearld, November 18, 2017.

LETTER OF THE WEEK: Lament for my forest refuge

It’s 12:48 a.m. I lie awake.

My brother said he heard machinery near the old hunting camp located up the Ohio Road, past Indian Fields on Black Lake, Shelburne County. Machinery in the middle of the forest can only mean one thing: clearcutting.

I go on Google Timelapse, zoom in to the camp and stare at my computer screen that flashes aerial images from 1984 to 2016. First, I see green forest. Then it turns into degraded patches of brown. The word that comes to mind as my stomach turns sick is “leech” — just sucking the life force out of the land and scarring it. It is the death of an Acadian Forest.

When I was a child, I’d escape to the forest at the back of the camp. The huge trees were magical and nothing like I’d ever seen before, reaching towards the sky. My little arms would embrace their trunks; I was never able to grasp around and lock my fingers. I’d lay my cheek on their bark listening to my heart beat.

The thick moss comforted me and I’d drift asleep while seeing the dancing branches and clouds way up above me. This was my sanctuary.

The camp is leased from the province and is located on Crown land. It’s a small plot that, to me, was at the edge of the Earth.

Machinery has changed. As a child, I remember thinking that this place would be left untouched. At age 49, I lie here awake, thinking about those trees that gave me life and peace. They will crash towards the earth en masse. Not selectively. Not in a sustainable way. But in a way that saves companies money.

My throat tightens. Tears fall down my cheeks. I grieve.

Shelly Hipson, Atlantic,

Shelburne County