Old Growth Forest Destruction

Imagine going into an art museum full of old masterpieces and laying waste to them with a chainsaw. Unthinkable, right?

Now imagine those same masterpieces are living, breathing things, the last stalwarts standing tall against climate change.

Yesterday’s story in the Seattle Times, B.C. Government Continues Logging of Old Growth as Two Year Protest in the Woods Drags On by Lynda V. Mapes describes the old growth forest so well…

“The rainforests of coastal B.C. are jewels unique to their place, nurtured by drenching rains in winter and sea fog in summer. Lichen in the canopy take nitrogen straight from the air, holding it in their tissues where rain and fog drip carry it to the soil. Some of the lichen species here are found only on old-growth trees — just one of the beautiful associations in a complex ecological system that has evolved over thousands of years. Losing parts will affect the whole.”

Lynda V. Mapes, Seattle Times
More about the disappearing rainforest:
Pennsylvania shares a similar history, when our Commonwealth was denuded of its old growth forests. You might say that was before we knew better, and had climate change ravaging Planet Earth.

Some of the giant trees preserved in Pennsylvania’s Cook Forest State Park

Pennsylvania was once 90% covered by forest.

As settlers flocked to the region, Penn’s Woods quickly became the source of building materials, and by the 1920’s, all that was left of those great woods were a few stands of protected first-growth forest. One hundred years later, it appears we have learned nothing, as we see a similar tragedy unfolding in British Columbia, Canada.


For a hundred years I breathe and live, the flower of beauty and the bread of kindness.
I am your friendly shade in the noonday heat of summer, and I stand pencilled against the winter twilight, a silhouette for dreams. At dawning in the spring I am filled with song, the host to a thousand birds, and I decorate the autumn with pageantry and colour.
Then comes the woodsman with his axe.
And still I serve.
I am the timber that builds your boat; the rafters of your cathedrals; the choirstalls of your church enriched by the magic of the carver’s fingers. I am the beam that holds your house; the door of your homestead, and the lintel too. I am the handle of your hoe; the wood of your cradle; the bed on which you lie; the board of your table and the board for your bread.
When I am living, harm me not.
When I am dead, respect me and use me kindly.

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