FIELD NOTES
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“From
where one stands.”
a version of this was published in the Plough
& Star
Deer
hunters build elevated perches from which to surprise
their prey. In Germany,
these stands resemble trim, tiny log cabins on stilts, the envy of any
boyhood
fort builder. In the U.S.,
such stands are more often roughly cobbled nests whose use requires
balance and
tolerant buttocks. This differentiation says less, I think, about
respective
architectural and carpentry abilities and more about the forests that
these
stands overlook, and the public interactions with those forests.
Walk through the Black Forest,
and you’ll find an orderly woods, criss-crossed by logging roads that
serve
double duty as frequently-used walking trails. It is a neat forest
dominated by
relatively few species. The ground is clear of most debris and
underbrush is
scarce. By contrast, the New England
hunter
overlooks a less-orderly and less-wandered woods, more diverse, more
scrubby. Both
of these modern forests are the product of re-births, largely growing
up on
once-cleared land. The contrasting results have to do with historical
exigencies and the consequent requirements of management. Intention
returned
forests to the Schwarzwald; indeed,
that forest is really a loose plantation intended to supply a
densely-populated
country which, especially after WW I and then during WW II, had a high
demand
for national wood. There was also a long history of agricultural
clearing at
least in the valleys. Expanding food-supply markets have since reduced
the need
for regional agricultural production, and maintained forestry’s
primacy. In
contrast, benign neglect returned the trees to most of New England
when, as
better lands were opened farther West, it no longer paid to keep such
rocky
fields cleared. While such secondary American forests have sometimes
been recut,
it has usually only been as an afterthought. Hence, one stand surveys a
landscape that, while scenic, bears a requirement for efficient
production,
while the other looks over a forest of more nebulous, although not
necessarily
less-valued, purpose.
The hunters themselves likely
brought differing
self-perceptions when they climbed aloft. For a pretty penny (or rather
euro-cent) the German has taken his hunting test and leased exclusive
hunting
access to a parcel for himself or his group. As such, he is a member of
a
relatively small elite subscription to which has brought privileges and
duties.
He is often required to cull a certain number of animals from his
parcel,
although he can sell the meat to offset costs; he is, in a sense, a
wildlife
farmer. The American is one of a larger, albeit decreasing proportion
of the
national population. He may well not be rich, and in fact, while the
game meat
cannot be sold, it may make a meaningful economic contribution to a
strapped
food budget. He has bought a relatively cheap license that gives him
the right
to hunt wherever he can find legal access in his state. He is something
of a
hunter-gatherer. In effect, the German hunter is a contributing manager
of the
wildlife in the well-maintained forest plot he overlooks. The American
hunter
may be no less interested in the fate of the species he harvests, but
his
managerial interaction is much looser, and he may or may not have any
intimate
knowledge of the messy forest he traverses in his hunt.
This description is not meant
to be judgemental. The purpose
in its sketching is not to highlight any aspect other than the intimate
way in
which a culture’s interaction with its land is shaped by both the
culture
itself and the land. The German hunter’s stand is part of the expected
forest
scenery during a woodland walk, just as day-glow orange marks the
autumn season
in New England’s
forests. Within their
cultures, each group is associated with a certain stereotype, as are
the
forests they hunt. In sum, characteristics as simple as those of deer
stand
construction reflect broader, more profound variations in human/land
interactions.
The
same enviro-cultural interactions hold for farmers
and farmlands, although I am less capable of outlining it in such a
comparative
format. Nonetheless as we consider agriculture in Columbia
County,
it’s worth thinking about the “deer stand” principle – few are the
human
constructs that aren’t a reflection of their environment, and few are
the
environments that are not, at least in part, human constructs. How has
farming
shaped us? How does it influence our gut feelings about a landscape?
What does our
style of farming say about our culture? How is it shaped by and how
does it
shape the ecology of the lands where it is found? And, finally, once we
have
understood these questions as spectators or passive participants, then
we can
ask the key questions of where do we want this interaction to go and
how do we
want to get there? As we follow our lives in city or country, we are
standing
not just at a certain point in our own personal, daily schedules or at
a
particular graphic location on a map, but we are also actors on the
ecological
stage, displaying our emotions and perceptions of that stage in our
“artwork”,
be that work a ploughed field, a mowed lawn with a plastic flamingo, an
exquisitely-marked
hiking trail or a deer stand. The difficult task on such a stage is to
perceive
it in its entirety, realizing both the immense and beautiful depths of
our
interactions and the dangerous power of our own hands.
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