Starving a fire Determined Lief Carlsen has spent years clearing his land so it won’t be a firetrap By Lief Carlsen
When we first acquired the
20 acres in Union Valley above Lake Chelan 42 years ago, my father called it a “firetrap” — and rightly so. Tangles of dead trees and brush, crispy-dry in summer’s heat, required nothing more than an errant match or sudden lightning strike to become a conflagration. But then there were the views, oh the views! Bright blue Lake Chelan 2,000 feet below and the snow-covered Cascade mountains in the distance. I had found my heaven on earth. I promptly built myself a log house on the land with a commanding view of the lake and mountains and went about building a life complete with a wife and children, two goats and five chickens. But even as life settled into a satisfying routine, a certain unease hung in the air. There was the matter of that firetrap my father had mentioned years before. Around the middle of July each year, as the green grass turned brown and the absence of rain became a daily concern, I would look around at the fallen trees and the bitterbrush that had dropped their leaves and cross my fingers, hoping that we could skate through another summer without a forest fire. To be sure, I was not merely a passive worrier. I cut up the fallen trees near the house and trimmed the lower branches of those still living but my efforts seemed pitifully inadequate when I surveyed the scope of the problem. Twenty acres is a lot of land.
...but my efforts seemed pitifully inadequate when I surveyed the scope of the problem. Twenty acres is a lot of land. The history of our firetrap is a familiar one. The land had been logged 50 years earlier, removing the large pine and fir trees that shaded the land. With sudden access to plentiful sunlight, the hillsides experienced a surge of exuberant growth. Thousands of young trees and bushes rushed in to claim their share of nature’s resources. The race was on. But as with most moments of sudden opportunity, the good times were soon over. Like the gold seekers who flocked to California during its gold rush, there were a few winners but most were losers. Trees that had sprouted shoulder to shoulder became starved for water and sunlight as they grew — most died. They became the nearly impenetrable tangle that surrounded our home. Years passed. Seeking better employment, we moved elsewhere. The house sat vacant. The firetrap grew more combustible. Still, our luck held — no forest fires. When retirement eventually released us from the bonds of employment, we moved back to our Union Valley home and acre-by-acre Mary and I began the long process of clearing the land.
18
| The Good Life
While frost is on the ground, Mary Carlsen burns a pile as the tangle of brush and dead trees are cleared to create less fuel for wildfires.
Ahhh... an unobstructed view of Lake Chelan.
www.ncwgoodlife.com
|
July 2021
