Every college student looks forward to summer. The miraculous lack of homework, birds chirping, the sun beating down over a tableau of green grass, and children running and playing in the shadows provided by the gracefully swaying branches of towering beeches, willows and oaks. I’m no different. I live off the beaten path, so to speak; my house is on a country ridge surrounded by pastures and forest. Natural beauty is something I’ve come to expect and take for granted. I’m used to waking up in the morning, stepping outside to feed the animals and smelling the pines, the horizon awash with trees that stretch as far as the eye can see. This summer’s nature appreciation, however, came from an unexpected source.
Eager to be reunited with my family, I sped home after last month’s finals, filled with anticipation. Driving through the hills and finally coming to our gravel driveway, I was struck dumb by a sight that nature-lovers everywhere have come to fear and loathe: the pink tape and blue paint of an imminent clear-cut. My beautiful home lies directly adjacent to land owned by Longview Fibre, a locally based timber company. For years they’d threatened to log, and the word had finally come down from on high. The 70 acres surrounding my house on three sides silently received their death sentence.
I was enraged. Didn’t these people understand they were destroying an entire ecosystem? The forest shelters animals ranging from squirrels to black bears, provides homes for birds, and clears the air we share with them all. And some corporation was poised to ruin it all for the sake of a few sap-stained dollars?
My Eugenean instincts screamed for me to chain myself to a tree or burn a bulldozer, but instead I stood helplessly by and watched Longview Fibre’s efficient destruction of my childhood playground.
The machines began cutting, their treads grinding plants into dust, and slowly the shattered earth beneath began to show. A barren wasteland slowly emerged, composed of dead and dying underbrush, splintered trees and mounds of sawdust. At first, the overwhelming scenes of devastation were depressingly final — the once-thriving ecosystem reduced to piles of broken branches and scavenging crows. But then a dust-smudged logger approached, wiping sweat from his forehead and smiling wearily.
According to him, the job was progressing smoothly. The trees were falling without a hitch, and weather permitting, the replanting effort could begin as soon as December.    
Wait, replanting? Slowly, I began thinking about the positives of the situation. These trees had a purpose. The fiber company had planted them years ago solely to be harvested and used by future generations. The timber will be used to create pulp, which can then be used to make paper or cardboard. These resources would then be turned into packaging materials that end up being sold and used in 35 different countries.
Yes, a profit was being turned, but the pines were like any other crop: certainly slower to grow, but ultimately part of a cyclical pattern of sowing and reaping that is entirely renewable.
And of course, Longview Fibre contributes to the local community with more than just packaging. It employs more than 1,600 people and has been producing paper products since 1927. The company has worked toward becoming completely green, with almost 90 percent of its energy usage coming from renewable resources.
Not only was this company providing a yield that is an essential part of mankind’s everyday life, but it was ensuring my neighbors jobs and advancement. In this struggling economy, that is no small feat. In a sense, the company I was up in arms against is fulfilling a crucial role in both the well-being of the forest and my fellow Oregonians alike. By employing people to cull and replant the trees in small sections at a time, the forest is given time to adjust and recover, jobs are made available, and a profit is made. Yes, the wildlife has to go through its own relocation process, but that’s the brilliance behind the reasonably sized projects. At the end of the day, everyone goes home, if not happy, at least assured that the logging process was being undertaken in the most efficient and cost-effective way for all parties.
At the end of the day, trees are the ultimate Good Samaritans. Their leaves renew the oxygen we breathe. Their roots cement the ground we walk on. Their branches provide shelter from the wind, rain and sun. Harvested, their wood has been used for countless purposes, including paper, buildings, warmth and early transportation.
Perpetuating that cycle of life in a renewable way with a low impact on the surrounding environment is an act that should be lauded. The small inconveniences I bear are nothing compared to the thousands of lives impacted by a single falling tree. If they can give so much, the least I can do is appreciate their sacrifice and refrain from vilifying those who cultivate them for processing.
As I walk back inside the house, I turn and survey one final silver lining: the gorgeous view of a valley running toward the horizon, broken only by the Mounts Hood, St. Helens, and Adams. Who says logging is all bad?

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