I am a new dog owner. Her name is Indy, she's an Australian Cattle Dog and it's been a real treat attempting to train her for the job site. My intentions is that she'll be a great worksite dog, sleeping in the truck, guarding the saws and hopefully fetching blocks and taglines in no time.
As with any new endeavor, I'm doing my fair share of research and came across a great book by The Monks of Skete entitled: How To Be Your Dog's Best Friend. You see, these monks are world renowned breeders of German Shepherds, and highly sought out dog trainers as well. Their approach to dog training is rather holistic and focuses very much on the relationship that exists between dog and owner. Of course, as I read I find myself reflecting on being a tree climber, and the specific relationship that I share with the trees I climb and care for.
The book reads, "obedience training can be allied with spiritual discipline both to train your dog and to train yourself. The difficulty with many approaches to training is that they focus entirely on the dog and not on the trainer. In such a context of unreflective behavior, all that really matters is the particular technique and the end result it achieves. The trouble is, such overkill has a profound effect on the relationship. "Whatever works" is an excuse used to justify training techniques that, when looked at closely, not only lack sensitivity but are ethically questionable" (page 97).
This passage from the book struck such a cord with me that it inspired this entry. I immediately related this to the work I do as a production arborist. After all, maintenance pruning is just that, the training of a tree to fit in harmoniously with it's environment, the people and structures around it, in a healthy manner. Isn't that so often times the case, that we get so caught up in the end result, finishing the job and moving quickly on to the next task, that sometimes a "whatever works" attitude takes hold. Sure, maybe there's some of you out there that are so spiritually in tune with your trees that this may not apply, but I think for the majority of us, there is a bit of that unreflective behavior that trickles out. All that matters is that the cut is right and clean and that the end result works. The problem is, there's no real relationship with that tree, just the specs or the work order, and on to the next one.
Well, this can be problematic with trees and dogs alike. The arborist has a duty to reflect on what they do as professionals, especially when people are going to pay good money for your service. I think that this special relationship between arborist and tree (or dog and trainer), is what separates the good from the great. A great arborist no doubt will have a spiritual connection with the trees they work in. They won't necessarily do what's easy for them as a climber or rigger, but rather what's best for the tree. Maybe this means going an extra 15 or 20 feet further to place a healthier cut, installing an extra cable, or cleaning up a pole pruning cut that's just too nasty to leave, even though no one will ever see it. And sure, they'll be people who argue "you can't make money that way," to which I respond, "you can't make money any other way". This is what is so important in the care of trees, is that we reflect on everything that we do; with the tree, and not just ourselves, in mind. Let's be honest about who things are really working out for.
Another great point that The Monks talk about in the book as far as dog training goes is the ability to leave non-related training issues aside. For example, if you're having a bad day, issues at work, issues at home or other ailments from a different sphere of life, try to clear that from the training atmosphere as to not put that weight onto the dog. The session will go better when there is a clear focus on the relationship between dog and trainer, minus any outside influences that can cloud the air.
This rings true as an arborist as well. Things will not always be working out in different spheres of life, and it becomes so easy for those emotions to leak into other endeavors, especially work. Try to treat climbing and arboriculture as a meditation, where you take a deep breath and let go of those distractions so that you can focus all of your energy on the tree. In other words, don't justify bad pruning cuts or dangerous rigging situations on the fact that you are in a bad mood. Leave that juju out of the crown. It can be such a healthy thing, for both the climber and the tree, when this type of unobtrusive relationship transpires.
As I write this Indy is sleeping and I am not in the trees. But I am trying to get in touch with my spiritual side, and reflect a bit on my work as an arborist and a dog owner. Maybe a lot of you don't have dogs, but I'm sure many of you have cared for hundreds, if not thousands, of trees out there. And even if you've lost a few contracts along the way, each and every tree that you've cared for is a reflection of you as an arborist. Once in a while you better stop to think about if that's the right man or woman in the mirror. Because just as a dog is man's best friend, the arborist should also be a tree's best friend.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Saturday, January 16, 2016
On Work Position.
I often hear climbers champion Single Rope Technique, claiming that they couldn't imagine working a tree any other way. I agree with this, because I mostly climb utilizing SRT for most of my work positioning.
When I started climbing I learned on a traditional dynamic system. For me, the biggest problems with this technique were: ascending, managing friction and retrieving my friction management device. Naturally, SRT answers the problematic questions that DRT posed for me.
I think that SRT also owes itself to the production climber because of some of the steps that it eliminates when setting up a tree. When basal-anchoring, there's no need for limb isolation, just a suitable suspension point to carry the load. I can set two primary lines basal anchored in the time it would take to isolate one limb in a DRT configuration (not to mention the pain of sending up a ring and ring). In the same respect, there's no secondary gear retrieval (ie. a friction management device), only rope to pull when the climb is complete. The 1:1 movement along the system as compared with that of 2:1 in DRT is also a favorable case in point. Of course, these are the obvious characteristics when we're comparing these two climbing systems. I don't want to beat a dead horse.
I don't want to get into the load forces that each system presents either, as that could be a whole discussion in itself that I'll save for another time. Let's assume for this article that the suspension point is strong and can either carry a basal anchored system which would exert twice the load when compared to that of a canopy anchored system.
What I do want to get into is what I call exposure. I'm going to define it, and then I'm going to talk about why an SRT system lends itself to mitigating exposure for the climber in a very effective way. Let's imagine a broad tree with no one central anchor to access the entire crown. Decurrent in character if you will. As a climber crosses over the center of the crown while anchored on the opposite side, rope angle begins to flatten. The potential for a dangerous swing increases. This is exposure, and it has everything to do with rope angle, and the distance to your anchor, and not beng lanyarded to the tree. In order to mitigate this exposure, the climber must change their rope angle. This is for me, the biggest benefit of an SRT system verses a DRT system.
When the climber redirects the climb line in an SRT system, the rope is static, so there's no friction other than that on the climbing device. When redirecting a DRT system, more friction must be managed. This is the deal breaker for me, the re-direct. It has the most DIRECT effect on achieving a comfortable, non-exposed work position.
Remember the broad tree with no central anchor I mentioned a paragraph ago? Well, your on the far side of the tree, far away from your anchor, your climbing higher and higher and the rope angle is getting dangerous. Instead of taking a selfie, you decide that maybe you should mitigate your exposure. For the SRT climber, you can install a simple false-crotch redirect, or drop your climbing system through a natural crotch redirect. Done. The DRT climber runs into a problem, they either can install a fancy redirect with pulleys and other gear that makes an attempt to manage the friction introduced, or they can retrieve their original anchor and reset all together. Meanwhile, the SRT climber has already updated Instagram and called for rigging.
When I study all the hype around the discussion of SRT verses DRT; it always comes down to this one simple concept of being able to easily change my rope angle in an SRT system. My biggest fear in canopy access is exposure. In big crowns I think it's a very real danger. Changing my rope angle diminishes the anxiety that bad rope angle creates. This leads to a safer and more comfortable climb all the time. And that's really why SRT is awesome.
When I started climbing I learned on a traditional dynamic system. For me, the biggest problems with this technique were: ascending, managing friction and retrieving my friction management device. Naturally, SRT answers the problematic questions that DRT posed for me.
I think that SRT also owes itself to the production climber because of some of the steps that it eliminates when setting up a tree. When basal-anchoring, there's no need for limb isolation, just a suitable suspension point to carry the load. I can set two primary lines basal anchored in the time it would take to isolate one limb in a DRT configuration (not to mention the pain of sending up a ring and ring). In the same respect, there's no secondary gear retrieval (ie. a friction management device), only rope to pull when the climb is complete. The 1:1 movement along the system as compared with that of 2:1 in DRT is also a favorable case in point. Of course, these are the obvious characteristics when we're comparing these two climbing systems. I don't want to beat a dead horse.
I don't want to get into the load forces that each system presents either, as that could be a whole discussion in itself that I'll save for another time. Let's assume for this article that the suspension point is strong and can either carry a basal anchored system which would exert twice the load when compared to that of a canopy anchored system.
What I do want to get into is what I call exposure. I'm going to define it, and then I'm going to talk about why an SRT system lends itself to mitigating exposure for the climber in a very effective way. Let's imagine a broad tree with no one central anchor to access the entire crown. Decurrent in character if you will. As a climber crosses over the center of the crown while anchored on the opposite side, rope angle begins to flatten. The potential for a dangerous swing increases. This is exposure, and it has everything to do with rope angle, and the distance to your anchor, and not beng lanyarded to the tree. In order to mitigate this exposure, the climber must change their rope angle. This is for me, the biggest benefit of an SRT system verses a DRT system.
When the climber redirects the climb line in an SRT system, the rope is static, so there's no friction other than that on the climbing device. When redirecting a DRT system, more friction must be managed. This is the deal breaker for me, the re-direct. It has the most DIRECT effect on achieving a comfortable, non-exposed work position.
Remember the broad tree with no central anchor I mentioned a paragraph ago? Well, your on the far side of the tree, far away from your anchor, your climbing higher and higher and the rope angle is getting dangerous. Instead of taking a selfie, you decide that maybe you should mitigate your exposure. For the SRT climber, you can install a simple false-crotch redirect, or drop your climbing system through a natural crotch redirect. Done. The DRT climber runs into a problem, they either can install a fancy redirect with pulleys and other gear that makes an attempt to manage the friction introduced, or they can retrieve their original anchor and reset all together. Meanwhile, the SRT climber has already updated Instagram and called for rigging.
When I study all the hype around the discussion of SRT verses DRT; it always comes down to this one simple concept of being able to easily change my rope angle in an SRT system. My biggest fear in canopy access is exposure. In big crowns I think it's a very real danger. Changing my rope angle diminishes the anxiety that bad rope angle creates. This leads to a safer and more comfortable climb all the time. And that's really why SRT is awesome.
Monday, January 11, 2016
The Work Plan.
Everything starts here. The objective, tree inspection, the specs, site hazards, traffic control, additions to the contract and the list can go on and on. The work plan can be more important than setting a throw line. Coming up with a solid plan in tree work not only keeps people and property safe, but it also leads to a greater amount of production because of the focus it renders on a work site.
I'll start with tree inspection, because honestly I feel it's one thing that I sometimes take for granted. Quickly scanning for large defects or decay just won't cut it. Don't be afraid to rap on an old trunk with a rubber mallet to sound for internal compartments. Take a few minutes, step back and scan the crown for buzzing insects or other animals that can be troublesome. A 360 degree walk around the tree may reveal a defect or hazard that you hadn't seen from a particular angle. This can also open up other options and angles for throwing or shooting lines into the crown for access. I know I get caught up rather easily in the fast paced world of production, but if there is ever a time to slow things down, it's during the planning and prepping stages.
I think we've all heard the old adage, "plan the work and work the plan." For me this carries a lot of weight as a production climber. Understanding what the goals of the contract are is vital in sound execution. Wondering what to do next can slow work down and cause confusion. I like to think about my next move, but I don't try to dwell on it because this can cause stress and anxiety. Don't become overwhelmed with the amount or scope of work, just focus on the work step by step. Things change, especially when you're aloft and realize that certain angles look different, certain rigging schemes may change because of the new view on the project. The ability to adapt, and the ability to communicate those changes to your ground support will no doubt add to a smooth operation and execution of the contract.
Personally, I like to carry many different items of gear for many different types of trees. Especially different hanks of rope. One thing that slows me down quite often is line management, and although I'm not going to get into that on this blog post, I will say that in the planning stages of the climb, I like to study the architecture of the tree in order to pick a rope length that will minimize my time spent managing my lines. Everything from a 15' ornamental to a 150' hardwood will require special tools in order to make the work enjoyable and efficient. This balance really pays off, and there's a real satisfaction in deploying the right tools in the right situations.
Finally, have a rescue plan in place. It doesn't have to be elaborate, but it should be full proof. I think one of best rescue plans is having multiple climbers on a sight. Persons that can access an injured climber and get them out of the crown on whatever system they normally climb on is critical. This means letting crew members know any specifics of your system, and any time you change those configurations during the climb. And be sure to practice. Thinking you know and knowing you know could mean the difference between someone making it home to their family or not.
Don't overlook the importance of the planning stages of work. If you've seen one tree, you haven't seen them all. Don't let reptition or experience cloud the pre-work inspection and planning. Fill up your coffee mug, walk the site with your crew, enjoy the morning and make the site as safe and as fun as possible.
I'll start with tree inspection, because honestly I feel it's one thing that I sometimes take for granted. Quickly scanning for large defects or decay just won't cut it. Don't be afraid to rap on an old trunk with a rubber mallet to sound for internal compartments. Take a few minutes, step back and scan the crown for buzzing insects or other animals that can be troublesome. A 360 degree walk around the tree may reveal a defect or hazard that you hadn't seen from a particular angle. This can also open up other options and angles for throwing or shooting lines into the crown for access. I know I get caught up rather easily in the fast paced world of production, but if there is ever a time to slow things down, it's during the planning and prepping stages.
I think we've all heard the old adage, "plan the work and work the plan." For me this carries a lot of weight as a production climber. Understanding what the goals of the contract are is vital in sound execution. Wondering what to do next can slow work down and cause confusion. I like to think about my next move, but I don't try to dwell on it because this can cause stress and anxiety. Don't become overwhelmed with the amount or scope of work, just focus on the work step by step. Things change, especially when you're aloft and realize that certain angles look different, certain rigging schemes may change because of the new view on the project. The ability to adapt, and the ability to communicate those changes to your ground support will no doubt add to a smooth operation and execution of the contract.
Personally, I like to carry many different items of gear for many different types of trees. Especially different hanks of rope. One thing that slows me down quite often is line management, and although I'm not going to get into that on this blog post, I will say that in the planning stages of the climb, I like to study the architecture of the tree in order to pick a rope length that will minimize my time spent managing my lines. Everything from a 15' ornamental to a 150' hardwood will require special tools in order to make the work enjoyable and efficient. This balance really pays off, and there's a real satisfaction in deploying the right tools in the right situations.
Finally, have a rescue plan in place. It doesn't have to be elaborate, but it should be full proof. I think one of best rescue plans is having multiple climbers on a sight. Persons that can access an injured climber and get them out of the crown on whatever system they normally climb on is critical. This means letting crew members know any specifics of your system, and any time you change those configurations during the climb. And be sure to practice. Thinking you know and knowing you know could mean the difference between someone making it home to their family or not.
Don't overlook the importance of the planning stages of work. If you've seen one tree, you haven't seen them all. Don't let reptition or experience cloud the pre-work inspection and planning. Fill up your coffee mug, walk the site with your crew, enjoy the morning and make the site as safe and as fun as possible.
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Handsaws.
There's nothing quite like being able to climb out an entire crown with just a handsaw. Pulling up a chainsaw can be annoying, although it is sometimes necessary. In each instance, I find that different handsaw placements can be beneficial to certain situations.
Typically my first and favorite placement is the leg mounted saw, with leg straps or the popular sawpod mounting system. I find that when I'm working large crown cleanings and the specs are to remove deadwood of a smaller diameter, I know that some work positions will be challenging, and usually of a horizontal nature at the ends of branches. Because of this, I don't like to be poking around for a dangling scabboard that's attached to my saddle while my core is burning to be released. I can give myself the advantage by moving my leg to a position that easily allows me to access my saw while fighting a not so favorable position.
On the other hand, when an operation calls for a longer duration of spar work and standing on gaffs, a scaboard that's mounted on the saddle may be the ticket. Climbing in an upright position doesn't favor bending over to grab a saw that's mounted on the leg, although some climbers out there may digress. Also, a leg mounted scaboard over gaffs can cause some unnecessary bulk, which is my biggest turnoff. Plus, during a removal situation that requires blocking out big wood, a handsaw won't do much good except for cleaning some small suckers out of the way or finishing a few fibers of a cut.
For me it's a question of mobility and economy. When I see tougher working positions and a lot of movement through the crown, the leg-mounted saw is my favorite option. A situation like a conifer removal or some type of other heavy spar work causes me to switch my saw placement over to the saddle.
I've even seen a fixed scabboard on the climbing saddle. This seems to converge the concept behind each postion. Rather than the saw dangling from the saddle, it remains fixed in place so that returning the saw is the same always.
I know there will be the argument out there by many arborists that they are creatures of habit, and that they benefit from having the same saw placement all the time. For me, it's as easy as having two hand saws set up for each situation. I keep a section in my utility body reserved for all things pruning, and two pruning saws of each nature really doesn't eat up that much space.
It's really a matter of convienance, as well as considering the task at hand. Personally, I like options.
Typically my first and favorite placement is the leg mounted saw, with leg straps or the popular sawpod mounting system. I find that when I'm working large crown cleanings and the specs are to remove deadwood of a smaller diameter, I know that some work positions will be challenging, and usually of a horizontal nature at the ends of branches. Because of this, I don't like to be poking around for a dangling scabboard that's attached to my saddle while my core is burning to be released. I can give myself the advantage by moving my leg to a position that easily allows me to access my saw while fighting a not so favorable position.
On the other hand, when an operation calls for a longer duration of spar work and standing on gaffs, a scaboard that's mounted on the saddle may be the ticket. Climbing in an upright position doesn't favor bending over to grab a saw that's mounted on the leg, although some climbers out there may digress. Also, a leg mounted scaboard over gaffs can cause some unnecessary bulk, which is my biggest turnoff. Plus, during a removal situation that requires blocking out big wood, a handsaw won't do much good except for cleaning some small suckers out of the way or finishing a few fibers of a cut.
For me it's a question of mobility and economy. When I see tougher working positions and a lot of movement through the crown, the leg-mounted saw is my favorite option. A situation like a conifer removal or some type of other heavy spar work causes me to switch my saw placement over to the saddle.
I've even seen a fixed scabboard on the climbing saddle. This seems to converge the concept behind each postion. Rather than the saw dangling from the saddle, it remains fixed in place so that returning the saw is the same always.
I know there will be the argument out there by many arborists that they are creatures of habit, and that they benefit from having the same saw placement all the time. For me, it's as easy as having two hand saws set up for each situation. I keep a section in my utility body reserved for all things pruning, and two pruning saws of each nature really doesn't eat up that much space.
It's really a matter of convienance, as well as considering the task at hand. Personally, I like options.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Limits.
It seems nowadays there is a tool and a piece of gear for everything. And then the combinations of those tools are endless as well, so we're left with this limitless web of gear and tool combinations that sometimes almost seems silly. I look down at my saddle, I feel it's weight and I am saddedned as it struggles to slide off my hips, burdened by all of the slings and pulleys and carabiners that I 'may' need at some point throughout a climbing operation. And maybe even more than that, it just looks cool, so we load it up for the photo op.
I think I once heard the phrase, "the more you know the less you need." Well, I'd argue that the more I know, the more I want, and I'm sure there's many climbing arborists out there that would agree with me.
I'm starting my week off with a good friend of mine who has a company out of town, two hours south of my home base. We have family in the area, so it works out that my wife and I load up the little Honda Civic with the baby and the astounding amount of non-related tree gear that he needs, and I get to save a very small space in the trunk for my tree gear.
This causes me a great deal of anxiety, because I really need to shave the pounds, and I'm typically a heavyweight when in comes to packing. Although I know the loose scope of work, (most likely I'll be setting chokers for a crane assisted removal) my mind wanders to all of the lovely kit I own, and my heart breaks when I can't fit those things in the trunk space.
I didn't bring gaffs, and although they are nice to have in removal scenarios, I hate them. Let me stress that again, I hate climbing with gaffs on. Maybe I'm the only person in the world that would show up to a crane job without gaffs, but because I left them behind, this eases some the anxiety for me. So I'm a few pounds lighter already.
I typically keep two 150' hanks of rope in my climb bag, so I took one hank out and left that in my work truck as well. Immediately, the tremors of worry creep back in, "what if a need to double crotch a massive limb walk?" More with less, right?
I'm typically good for one stuck throwball in a typical morning, so I'm always rolling with two cubes, and I'll never pass up the opportunity to double-bag a crotch. But remember, I need to limit myself and show some type of self control, so I slowly slip one cube into my climb bag and make amends with that.
Finally, my leg mounted hand saw slides in and my kask helmet fully equipped with my Sena communication system goes in last. On my saddle there is my lanyard package, rope runner, ascenders and two slings each equipped with carabiners. Oh yea, and my topheld chainsaw with gas and oil in a separate bin.
In all reality, I know this gear will be sufficient. Hell, I may not even use the slings. but I'm still feeling like I'm limited in the arsenal I've brought simply because I've gone from having an entire utility box filled with tree gear to a small 3'x2' trunk space to determine my performance as a contractor.
Limiting oneself can be beneficial in many ways. Personally, I sometimes build uneccessary dependencies on gear that may be in many situations wasteful and redundant. Sure, in one instance in can be a deal breaker, but then I'll find myself forcing it into other applications where it just slows down the process and confuses things. Keep it simple, stupid, right? This time, I only have what I need, and I may not even have a few things that I need. Although this causes a bit of worry at first, I feel a lot better than I did originally, as if there has been a huge weight lifted from my saddle. Then again, it's the morning of the job, I haven't even seen the tree yet and I'm sure that on the drive in that anxiety will somehow manage to perspire from my brow until the saw dust soaks it up.
I think I once heard the phrase, "the more you know the less you need." Well, I'd argue that the more I know, the more I want, and I'm sure there's many climbing arborists out there that would agree with me.
I'm starting my week off with a good friend of mine who has a company out of town, two hours south of my home base. We have family in the area, so it works out that my wife and I load up the little Honda Civic with the baby and the astounding amount of non-related tree gear that he needs, and I get to save a very small space in the trunk for my tree gear.
This causes me a great deal of anxiety, because I really need to shave the pounds, and I'm typically a heavyweight when in comes to packing. Although I know the loose scope of work, (most likely I'll be setting chokers for a crane assisted removal) my mind wanders to all of the lovely kit I own, and my heart breaks when I can't fit those things in the trunk space.
I didn't bring gaffs, and although they are nice to have in removal scenarios, I hate them. Let me stress that again, I hate climbing with gaffs on. Maybe I'm the only person in the world that would show up to a crane job without gaffs, but because I left them behind, this eases some the anxiety for me. So I'm a few pounds lighter already.
I typically keep two 150' hanks of rope in my climb bag, so I took one hank out and left that in my work truck as well. Immediately, the tremors of worry creep back in, "what if a need to double crotch a massive limb walk?" More with less, right?
I'm typically good for one stuck throwball in a typical morning, so I'm always rolling with two cubes, and I'll never pass up the opportunity to double-bag a crotch. But remember, I need to limit myself and show some type of self control, so I slowly slip one cube into my climb bag and make amends with that.
Finally, my leg mounted hand saw slides in and my kask helmet fully equipped with my Sena communication system goes in last. On my saddle there is my lanyard package, rope runner, ascenders and two slings each equipped with carabiners. Oh yea, and my topheld chainsaw with gas and oil in a separate bin.
In all reality, I know this gear will be sufficient. Hell, I may not even use the slings. but I'm still feeling like I'm limited in the arsenal I've brought simply because I've gone from having an entire utility box filled with tree gear to a small 3'x2' trunk space to determine my performance as a contractor.
Limiting oneself can be beneficial in many ways. Personally, I sometimes build uneccessary dependencies on gear that may be in many situations wasteful and redundant. Sure, in one instance in can be a deal breaker, but then I'll find myself forcing it into other applications where it just slows down the process and confuses things. Keep it simple, stupid, right? This time, I only have what I need, and I may not even have a few things that I need. Although this causes a bit of worry at first, I feel a lot better than I did originally, as if there has been a huge weight lifted from my saddle. Then again, it's the morning of the job, I haven't even seen the tree yet and I'm sure that on the drive in that anxiety will somehow manage to perspire from my brow until the saw dust soaks it up.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Every Cut Matters.
Sometimes I think about what my legacy will be. We work on so many trees, so many different types of situations and species, so many different types of homeowners and tree owners. Thousands and thousands and thousands of collar cuts. It would be easy to get complacent, to absent mindedly make a poor cut, a small tear past the collar, forget a stub in a remote area of the crown.
But that's just it. Once everything is said and done, all of those cuts will be hidden, compartmentalized forever in the biology of the tree. I think of the Tibetan monks and their practice of mendala, beautifully and painstakingly crafted sand art, and just as it's finished it's quickly wiped away in a metaphor of the how impermanent this life may be.
But there is a lasting quality in craft, especially craft practiced with conviction. That's where I find meaning in arboriculture, in the fact that every cut, for me, is a work of art, even if it is impermanent. Every cut matters.
But that's just it. Once everything is said and done, all of those cuts will be hidden, compartmentalized forever in the biology of the tree. I think of the Tibetan monks and their practice of mendala, beautifully and painstakingly crafted sand art, and just as it's finished it's quickly wiped away in a metaphor of the how impermanent this life may be.
But there is a lasting quality in craft, especially craft practiced with conviction. That's where I find meaning in arboriculture, in the fact that every cut, for me, is a work of art, even if it is impermanent. Every cut matters.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Cook Forest Compilation.
Here is the recent footage from our Hemlock measuring project in Cook Forest State Park. Enjoy.
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