Extension News: December 2006 Archives

In a snowless winter, when the cross-country skis languish unused, I walk in the woods. Spruce, hemlock and pine, and sometimes a dusting of snow, sharpen the grays and browns of bare trees and stone walls. The open forest provides glimpses of past and present inhabitants, human and otherwise.

Ancient and not-so-ancient roads and trails wind through wooded areas of New Hampshire. They provide entrance to the forests and to the history of a place, at least since European settlers arrived in the 17th and 18th centuries. Ridges and narrow valleys directing drainage to larger streams and ponds, outcroppings of ledge, large boulders, depressions that will hold vernal pools in spring—these speak of a longer history, thousands of years of geological alteration.

Old town maps and even some more modern atlases show roads that no longer exist, or are not maintained as roads. They are usually easy to identify on the ground. Stone walls 50 feet apart commonly attest to the existence of a three-rod road. (A rod is usually 162 feet, although I have recently learned of a town where the rod measured 18 feet.) Hikers, skiers, snowmobilers and hunters all delight in trekking along old roads.

When deciduous trees are bare and snow cover is sparse, winter reveals clues to the past: remnants of old home and barn foundations offer evidence of once-upon-a-time homesteads. A few weathered stones mark an old family burial site, perhaps with its own stone-walled enclosure. A narrow-walled pathway leads from a long-absent barn to a pasture now grown to forest. A pile of broken dishes and rusted farm machinery marks an old farmstead dump site.

High-bush blueberry bushes, too shaded to bear fruit, mark the site where cattle or sheep pastured, perhaps 70 or 100 years ago; a gnarled remnant of an apple tree marks the site of an orchard.

Walls take off at angles to the road, marking ancient fields and pastures. Some are boundary walls, dividing one farm from another. Boundary trees, left standing along the wall and in the gaps, sometimes bear Ablazes@ still visible despite years of growth.

Old logging trails may be harder to follow. They contribute to an understanding of the history and character of the land. Many simply stop where the last big tree was cut, but some provide thoroughfares through a tract. Keep your compass handy if you follow one of these.

People are not the only creatures who take advantage of old roads and logging trails. Fresh snow reveals tracks—always deer, occasionally a moose, coyotes, perhaps a bobcat, and smaller creatures: squirrels, grouse, turkeys, and creatures like us who don=t have the sense or capability to hunker down for the winter.

Deer follow the man-made trails for a while and then veer off to create their own paths through the forest. It=s risky to follow them into unfamiliar territory. The deer know where they are going, but you may not want to go there!

Traditionally in New Hampshire large tracts of woodlands have been open to hunters and hikers—low-impact pedestrian recreational users. More recently though, I’ve come across trails where all-terrain vehicles and 4X4 trucks have inflicted severe damage, creating deep ruts and disrupting fragile wetland ecosystems. As a result, some snowmobile clubs have gated trails and landowners have closed off access to discontinued roads.

If the long tradition of keeping private lands open to our use is to survive, we=ll need to persuade the makers and drivers of such vehicles to join us in respecting the hospitality of the landowner. All users of wild places need to understand the importance of preserving the ecosystem that sustains the plants and animals that lure us there.

12/20/06

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

I built my first fire of the season a few weeks ago. Certainly this is an unremarkable event for anyone who’s lived a long time in the North Country, but for me it marks a rite of passage.

When I moved to this area several years ago, I barely knew how to build a fire, let alone operate a woodstove. In my previous life my “ex” always started the fires. Sure, I’d throw a log on now and then, but that was the extent of it. Growing up as a kid in the suburbs of New York City, we only had a fire going on an occasional holiday.

The truth is, I was always a bit intimidated by fires and generally left them to the men in my life. The one time I did attempt to start a fire on my own resulted in the evacuation of the apartment building I was living in on Boston’s Beacon Hill. In an effort to impress a gentleman I was having over for dinner, I bought a paper-wrapped log at the supermarket. I lit it without knowing I was supposed to open the flue. I made an impression for sure, just not the kind I had hoped for.

Then I landed here. Despite my anxiety, that first winter I realized I would need at least some wood in the event I lost power, which seemed likely. So I arranged to have a load delivered. After it was dumped in my driveway, I stood there blubbering, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Did I order this much wood? Could I possibly burn it all? When I realized I had bought green wood, my tears turned to anger. Right there I vowed to conquer my fear and get this fire and firewood thing mastered.

I used my anger to invigorate the not-so-small task of constructing an orderly woodpile. I decided to move as much of the wood as possible into the shed. On a neighbor’s advice, I stacked the rest in the basement to expedite the drying process.

“Put as much as you can on end. That’ll help some,” he suggested. I thought she ought to know, having lived here the last 65 of her eighty-odd years.

Next, I located the manual and proceeded to familiarize myself with this cast-iron box. Notwithstanding good intentions, at this point I still had no plan to use the stove unless it became absolutely necessary. It did in October when the power failed for three days. I quickly realized the inevitability of the situation. I would have preferred to bury my head under a down blanket, but set about my task as cold began to creep into the house.

The manual was refreshingly clear and presented four concise pages of instruction on how to build and sustain a wood fire. I used most of the Sunday Times to coax the flames that ignited the kindling and the kindling to torch the logs. This first attempt resulted in a diminutive fire at best, but I was ecstatic to see some result. My sense of accomplishment was unabashed.

By day three I figured out how to keep the embers burning overnight. I was learning about the relationship between air flow and the fire, and which controls on the stove proved most effective in regulating it. I realized if I could stoke up a robust fire, I could damp it down for a long-burning, intense delivery of heat.

What I hadn’t anticipated discovering was the magical aura of a fire. The pleasant smell of it. Its mesmerizing quality. The cozy and friendly atmosphere it creates.

This will be my third winter in the North Country, and this year I plan to heat my home with almost equal portions of wood and oil. I can maintain a fire for days on end. A neighbor felled some trees for me last spring. I bought and learned to operate a chain saw, so now I cut and split my own wood. I purchased a tree identification book.

When my mother learned of my undertakings, she laughed nervously and remarked, “You’re using a chain saw? Oh honey, that’s too dangerous. Don’t you want to buy your wood? Do you need money?”

I replied, “It’s not about money, Mom. The sense of reward I get from the whole process is remarkable. And I’m very careful.”

Last month a friend came to visit from Boston and proceeded to help me with my wood tasks. I enjoyed even more the lugging, cutting, splitting, and stacking with his company. I know he found the physical nature of the work as satisfying and stimulating as I did.

A neighbor passing by yelled to him, “Wood warms you up a few times before you even burn it.”

He replied, “Yeah, I’m figuring that out.”

I had to agree. I’m figuring it out, too.

12/13/06

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.