Some little velvety firs had been orphaned near the stumps of their parents and were trying to recover from the shock of their loss. Their recuperation would be arduous given the slow shoot growth since the harvest. I touched the tiny terminal bud of the one closest to me. Some white-flowered rhododendrons and huckleberry shrubs had also ducked the zip of the saw. I was a part of this harvesting of lumber, this business of chopping down trees to clear the spaces where they were free, wild, whole. My colleagues were drawing up plans for the next clear-cuts, to keep the mill going and their
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