by Khaos
I'm sitting 150 ft. up between the massive trunks of two magnificent old growth douglas fir trees and one old hemlock. Around and beyond me stretches the patchwork forest, our little 30 acre patch of old growth a sanctuary bordered by dirt roads and scrubby clearcuts. The 96 total acres of old growth slated to be clearcut in the Clark Timber Sale above the north fork of Fall Creek in the Willamette National Forest provide a refuge for many species, some of them endangered, which depend on a mature or old growth ecosystem, including the northern spotted owl, the red tree vole, and the northern flying squirrel. This amazing squirrel, prime owl food, is not itself classified endangered, yet it depends on an endangered ecosystem. The forest service would destroy these survivors and their habitat to put out the annual yield in board feet that it promises to industry, would destroy endangered species before they can be proved to exist here. The fewer species they have to account for, the easier it is to continue with their provit-driven brand of forestry -- converting our diverse native forests to tree farms of marketable timber species, genetically manipulated for maximum yield. The flying squirrels and their endangered relations have no place in the forest service bureaucracy's "desired future condition," their blunted vision of an industrial "working forest."
Last night, briefly and tentatively, a northern flying squirrel sat on my face. I was snug in my sleeping bag in this hanging hut in the canopy. My comrades and I had been watching a pair of these wing-flapped rodents as they sat on our porch checking out us and our food. Our food secured in buckets, they settled on gnawing on an Earth First! Journal. They looked at us bravely with black eyes that said, "Okay, you can stay." There is no question who is a guest in who's home here.We let them have their way with the Journal and went to bed. Before I was asleep, I felt a light, shivery weight on my legs. It was ticklish, the way the little feet quivered with energy, the creature so high on life, on curiosity, on the will to survive, to fly from tree to giant tree in its nightly forage for food.
Startled by quivering creature contact I shifted and sat up; the rodent scampered away, up the tree a ways, but just a little ways. Realizing I had been visited by a flying squirrel I smiled and bade it goodnight and nestled down feeling safer and more comfortable in my treetop bed to know that the natives felt comfortable approaching me. Then it ran up my body and welcomed me face to furry face. I'm going to stay awhile!
This creature is bad-ass! Have you ever seen a flying squirrel "fly"? Not unless you've been up in old growth trees. A flying squirrel can leap from one tree branch and glide up to 200 ft. downwards through the canopy to another tree. They glide on flaps of skin that unfold between their forearms and their sides. They can steer themselves left and right as they glide, and as they land their flaps come all the way out like parachutes and they land gently and stealthily on a branch. They can also dive bomb.
Since the northern flying squirrel is not considered endangered in the Willamette National Forest, their habitat is considered expendable by the bureaucrats, though the truth is that the unprotected old growth patches of this forest are one last sanctuary for these beautiful native aeronauts. And since a single squirrel rarely ranges beyond a 30 acre area, the Fall Creek flying squirrels certainly are endangered. They are threatened because they live in old growth trees. We, their human relations, can help them by living with them in the trees.
I am not uncomfortable or unhappy here on this December night, on a hanging cushioned platform with a tarp roof, listening to the radio and writing by candlelight. I am not cold or hungry, there is nothing I need that I don't have. I don't have any money, but what would I do with that up here? When I go to bed and blow out the candles, a flying squirrel might approach me and run across my face. It might even bust into the flour bag by my head again. I don't mind, I like the little critters. And as comfortable and happy as I am in their home, I know there are plenty of other places I could go on this earth and survive. Not so for the flying squirrels. If we leave our treetop homes, their homes are coming down. Our departure would leave the squirrels at the mercy of the U.S. Forest Service and one timber company trying to make a quick buck.
And the trees would fall. And the squirrels would fly from tree to tree, and tree after tree would fall and still they would flee, until nothing was left but the few sparsely separated trees marked orange in spray paint around their trunks, the diseased trees, the dead snags, the "not suitable for timber harvest" rejects. But these are few and far between. Farther than 200 ft. Farther than a flying squirrel can fly. And there's nowhere to go, nothing to eat in the air or on the ground and there are giant industrial machines turning and churning all around. The flying squirrels have nowhere to fly, and so they die.
How could we possibly leave these trees, knowing the flying squirrels and their plight? People tell me I'm wasting my time, to get a "real job,"to live in the "real world." But what could be more REAL than the wind and the rain, the sway of a big ancient tree, the mountains in the distance, the red clouded sunset, the hoot of an owl or a growl in the night, the fluttery, fidgety feeling of furry little feet on my face and in the flour?
(written in Yggdrasil)