Nature and the Nerd

By Sandy Cole and Richard Daniels

For more than the first twenty-five years of its time span, this book focuses on the interaction between Dick and nature. It took more than two and a half decades, plus the development of the Internet, for Dick to find Sandy. For the past fifteen they have been partners in life.

The subtitle refers to a symbiotic relationship. A symbiotic relationship is one that is mutually beneficial. But for billions of years, nature got along just fine without the human species. Isn’t it presumptuous to assume to give nature a hand? Well, for quite a while man has been messing up what nature presented to us. There are now countless opportunities to undo some of the blights that have been introduced by our fellow inhabitants of this planet.

This book describes the evolution of some neglected woods in Sandwich, New Hampshire from negligible wildlife into a rejuvenated forest where wildlife thrives. As the forest evolves, so does the Nerd - from a research and development engineer to a person who feels an ongoing kinship with the land.

To help the forest in its evolution, there were a number of logging operations to remove problematic trees which were a result of earlier mismanagement. The remaining trees benefited from less competition and grew faster than they would have otherwise. Because more sunlight reached the forest floor, there was more undergrowth which provided browsing for wildlife.

Twenty years have passed since the last logging operation. The casual observer finds no evidence that large machines once roamed here cutting down trees and dragging them to processing sites. Those logging roads have been improved during my outdoor workouts and are now rustic paths appreciated both by wildlife and humans. Two ponds have been created and three houses built on the property; each house being more energy efficient than its predecessor.

If you are caught in the rat race - there is another world out there. Come to the woods! Let nature draw you in! If you must, bring your electronic devices, but take a moment to draw a deep breath, stop and experience the life around you. And be warned, you might forget to turn on your cherished device(s).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Cole
• Release date: Jan 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311314215

Sandy Cole

I grew up on a lake in Michigan where I lived until I graduated from college as an elementary teacher. As a child, I was a tomboy, riding bikes to the local riding stable to feed carrots to the horses and swimming, fishing and catching crawfish all summer long. In fourth grade I fell in love with Mr. Batsakis, my all-time favorite teacher, and decided then and there that I wanted to be a teacher too. In high school my math and science teacher had just returned from teaching overseas for the Department of Defense and further defined my teaching ambitions. I was bitten by the travel bug at 13 when my Scottish parents took us to the “Old Country” for the summer, to meet relatives and travel all around Scotland and to London as well. When I fulfilled the two years of elementary school teaching needed, I applied to the Dept. of Defense Overseas School System and spent the next six years teaching elementary school in Germany and England- traveling to Denmark, Holland, Spain, Italy, Greece, Austria, Romania, and Egypt on school vacations. I married while over there and taught in Massachusetts for a few years, having a daughter and a son, before moving to New Hampshire where I took a job at a community college, teaching psychology, counseling students, and running a grant-funded single parent program. When I retired, the travel bug bit me once again, and, meeting Dick, who also loved to travel, we set off for wider horizons. He and I have gone to Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Bermuda, Jamaica, Peru, The Galapagos Islands, Ecuador, South Africa, Tanzania, Kenya, Madagascar, Australia, Tahiti, New Zealand, Scotland, England, Greece, Italy, France, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Nepal and China. My early fascination with bathrooms, as noted in my introduction to the book, followed me wherever we went and my camera was always with me when I headed for a restroom. Loving to write, I decided to share my experiences and photos with others, both travelers and bathroom lovers. We presently share our time between New Hampshire, enjoying family, and North Carolina, enjoying beaches, escaping to more exotic climes when we can.

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PREFACE

For more than the first twenty-five years of its time span, this book focuses on the interaction between Dick and nature. It took more than two and a half decades, plus the development of the Internet, for Dick to find Sandy. For the past fifteen they have been partners in life.

The subtitle refers to a symbiotic relationship. A symbiotic relationship is one that is mutually beneficial. But for billions of years, nature got along just fine without the human species. Isn’t it presumptuous to assume to give nature a hand? Well, for quite a while man has been messing up what nature presented to us. There are now countless opportunities to undo some of the blights that have been introduced by our fellow inhabitants of this planet.

This book describes the evolution of some neglected woods in Sandwich, New Hampshire from negligible wildlife into a rejuvenated forest where wildlife thrives. As the forest evolves, so does the Nerd - from a research and development engineer to a person who feels an ongoing kinship with the land.

To help the forest in its evolution, there were a number of logging operations to remove problematic trees which were a result of earlier mismanagement. The remaining trees benefited from less competition and grew faster than they would have otherwise. Because more sunlight reached the forest floor, there was more undergrowth which provided browsing for wildlife.

Twenty years have passed since the last logging operation. The casual observer finds no evidence that large machines once roamed here cutting down trees and dragging them to processing sites. Those logging roads have been improved during my outdoor workouts and are now rustic paths appreciated both by wildlife and humans. Two ponds have been created and three houses built on the property; each house being more energy efficient than its predecessor.

As a youth, Dick dedicated his life to being a great student. He had natural aptitude for math and science and loved to read, especially science fiction. Summers were spent at the family cottage at Cobbetts pond in Windham, New Hampshire. Swimming, boating, and water skiing brought out another side of him. Books were reserved for rainy days. Moonless nights found him out on a raft enjoying the wonder of stars.

Dick continued his studious ways to graduate from Brown University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Northeastern University. He also wrote two scientific books. He was a nerd, with a childhood that fortunately had awakened in him a wonderment of nature. He is now a born-again naturalist.

As a child, Sandy was a year-round lakeaholic. Living in a big house on a hill overlooking a lake, she was wading, hunting for crawfish as soon as the ice receded in the spring, coming out only to give her legs a chance to thaw. Summer vacation was spent fishing, swimming, and rowing to the ‘Treasure Spot," an untouched part of the lakeshore where the currents deposited tiny clam shells, lost fishing lure, and all manner of exotic items. When school started again, and she had that stomach sinking, end-of-summer-freedom feeling, she shoved her leather-soled feet back into shoes and went about being a good little student. School was good to her, but summers were better.

From the lake, Sandy went to college to become a teacher and followed that occupation overseas for five years of teaching in Germany and England. Then, back in the States, while shopping in a supermarket with a toddler riding in the basket, she picked up a brochure For People Who Want to Write Children’s Books. Her final article from the course was published in Ranger Rick- a nature piece entitled Sharks Were Babies Too. That wakened anew an interest in the world’s critters and seven or eight articles were published in the following, child rearing years. Full time work as a counselor and psychology professor and mother of two growing children left little time for writing. But now in the glories of retirement, with a lovely outdoor environment to explore, there once again is time to write- and a person to join in doing that.

If you are caught in the rat race - there is another world out there. Come to the woods! Let nature draw you in! If you must, bring your electronic devices, but take a moment to draw a deep breath, stop and experience the life around you. And be warned, you might forget to turn on your cherished device(s).

DEDICATION

Dedicated to

Clarinda Philips

She taught us how to live and she taught us how to die

The following was written by ‘Chele Miller and presented by her on January 18, 2004 at a memorial service for Clarinda Philips. Clarinda was our next door neighbor, and she made our lives more complete. We miss her.

Clarinda was the quintessential independent woman; involved, welcoming and hospitable, always a good and interested listener; and very private. Until I read her obituary, I did not know even that she played the violin, much less that she possessed such expertise. She never spoke about herself.

I was also surprised, as I thought about memories and anecdotes of her, that I have so many I could tell, since I have only known her for a short time. However, I know that she would counsel me to be brief, and I know that if I don't do a good job, I will hear a branch tapping at my bedroom window tonight; so I will hold myself to three particular images.

First, I know we all picture her digging, planting, transplanting and weeding. She gardened simply, especially anxious to nourish the natural plants in her yard and woods. She weeded the grass from her lawn to encourage the moss. She moved partridge berries from the woods into an expanding bed by the house. And she successfully transplanted delicate lady slippers by carefully replicating their environment. Summer before last she planted a long bed of lilies here at the chapel along the newly constructed ramp. I believe Clarinda thought of this as a gift to the chapel, as needed beautification and as a gift to her friend, Lillian Bowles, in whose memory the ramp was built.

A personal memory I will cherish is our chapel Christmas tree excursions. Since I moved to Wonalancet, we have put up the chapel tree together each year. Last year, after examining what seemed like every tree in Cawley's tree farm and finally selecting one, she reached over, took the bow saw out of my hand, dropped to her knees and cut down the tree. And later, we had great fun securing the tree against the wind and untangling and. attaching the lights with numb fingers. Clarinda was not able to put up the tree this year, but she did approve the lights and monitor my progress.

And finally, I picture her expression when she introduced one of her not square boxes to new admirers and anticipated their reactions when they recognized that It was, indeed, not square. After she retired, Clarinda pursued an interest in woodworking; and, as with everything she did, she did it right. She attended the Museum school, learned the basics and created a very respectable woodworking shop in her cellar. She has given me both the gift and the challenge of those tools, I'm sure to be certain that I will be kept busy with good work. .

Clarinda loved it here. Like her lady slippers, she transplanted herself to this place when she retired, and she often spoke of her joy in being here. She found friends, enjoyed the social occasions she chose; and lived contentedly within a circle of her own creation. She found interest and contentment in the natural cycle of each day and of the turning of the seasons. Even through her illness, which she confronted with astounding grace way beyond my understanding, she had her bed in the dining room where she could watch each day through the window.

As the struggle became more difficult, Joan called early one morning and asked that I consider whether it was the right time to share her poem with Clarinda. That day did prove to be just the right time. I visited Clarinda and explained that I had a poem for her from Joan and asked if she wanted to hear it. She did. She closed her eyes and listened. At the end she said, I think it's time, and she asked to hear the poem again.

You may recall, the poem closes with these words:

Walk slowly down that long, long path, for soon we'll follow you.

We want to know each step you take, so we may take the same.

For someday down that lonely road, you'll hear us call your name.

Clarinda listened. After a moment and in a peaceful tone of acceptance. she said, I will go slowly, very very slowly. I will be listening.

Our neighborhood is diminished missing Clarinda's quiet presence. We will all remember her fondly and nurture her day lilies here at the chapel. I will try to transplant a lady slipper into the grove following the directions she has given me. And, if I am blessed with a life as long and competent has hers, I will continue to put up our Christmas tree here, at least until I am 85.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

When I originally purchased the property in the White Mountains, I had little idea what a Tree Farm was and certainly not what a Tree Farmer did. I am deeply grateful to the various individuals who have contributed greatly to my silvaculture education and, by so doing, have helped in the evolution of me and my Tree Farm.

Peter Pohl, the county forester, has been my mentor, always willing and very able to suggest how to improve the forest. As I reread our correspondences I am always impressed with Peter's ability to communicate and the thought he put in to answering my questions.

Dave Weathers, from the Soil and Conservation Service, nicely complemented the help that Peter provided. Peter's charter is to help landowners manage their woods so that the forests will develop marketable products. Dave's charter is to help the landowners so that the wildlife will benefit. Dave's conservation attitudes have been very contagious.

Jack Wadsworth, a forester for S. D. Warren Paper Co., taught me what trees should be selected for a timber harvest so well that I eventually did not need his help! What better compliment can a teacher have?

Fred Bickford, owner of a timber harvesting company, has been my contact with the commercial side of Tree Farming. Thanks to Fred, I have not had to worry about detrimental effects of harvests. Instead, his work has helped shape the Tree Farm so that its future looks even brighter than its past.

Bill Read, my next door neighbor, has participated in many of my projects that required earth moving equipment. His machines and his talent to make them do wonderful things were both helpful and instructive.

I eventually purchased a backhoe. Len Marino was a critical factor in keeping that machine in good running order. He is no longer with us – I miss my best friend.

All of these people have had a major impact on the education and metamorphosis of this engineer who now would be lost without the woods.

THE EARLY YEARS

Discovery of the Tree Farm

For years I enjoyed camping in the White Mountains. Because real estate is usually a good long-term investment, my first wife Carol and I decided we might as well invest in something we could enjoy. In 1975 we started searching for some land in the Tamworth - Sandwich NH region at the southern edge of the White Mountains, a very picturesque area. The drive from our house in Massachusetts would be reasonable, only a little more than two hours.

Drawing us to the area was the fact that Carol's family already thought this was God's Country. Her grandfather's ashes were spread on Mt. Whiteface in Sandwich, and her Uncle George had retired to Tamworth. Even before we had thought of buying land in the area, our son Richie had been baptized in Tamworth. Our minister had a summer residence there as well as a mountain cabin where we had stayed and enjoyed a ski-weekend. Carol could even remember being pulled on a toboggan to the cabin when she was just a little girl. We were already tied to the area!

Bob Lloyd was the real estate person we dealt with. Like many people living in the area, he originally lived in Massachusetts but had family roots in Tamworth. When the company he worked for folded, he welcomed the excuse to move home to the White Mountains.

Bob loved to walk in the woods, so he was an ideal person to guide us in purchasing land. First he showed us land that was too wet for our taste, land that was bisected by high tension wires, and then a gorgeous 60 acre parcel for a whopping $80,000. It had two ponds, one small and shallow (good for wildlife), and a large one (good for swimming). The woods were nicely cared for, with trails and woods roads that were driveable.

We fell in love with the land, but the price was much higher than our upper limit, so we told Bob no. But after thinking about it for a day, we decided we could sell off part of it or maybe even buy it in partnership with someone. It was just too nice to pass up. When we called Bob Lloyd he said it was still available, so we mailed a deposit. A couple of days later Bob called and told us he had been wrong - the land had been sold by another broker before our deposit arrived, so the land was not to be ours.

We were disappointed, but the incident served to convince Bob that we were serious, and fine tuned his idea of the type of land we wanted. About a month later he called us to say he just learned about a parcel that would be for sale, but had not even been listed yet. Stan Coville, a local forestry person, had accumulated a fair amount of land over the years, and was starting to sell some.

The parcel was 160 acres on Rt. 113A in North Sandwich, part of the town of Sandwich, NH., close to Mt. Whiteface. By coincidence, Uncle George lived on the same road about three miles away in Tamworth. The location was ideal. This section of Route 113A is also called Chase Road, the name I will usually use since it sounds friendlier and folksier than the route number.

Bob took us down a woods road that began at a neighbor's driveway, and soon petered out, becoming a narrow path that was in the process of being reclaimed by the woods. The goal of our walk was Mill Brook, a pretty stream flowing rapidly for September.

Then we retraced our footsteps, got back in the car and drove up Rt. 113A to a small road, near the midpoint of the property’s frontage. It was a nice substantial gravel road, but ended abruptly in a gravel site 100 yards in from the highway. We later learned that the road was in such good shape because the abutter on the east side of the property had permission to use the gravel to make a long driveway to his future house site. Bill Read, the abutter, was a nephew of Bob Lloyd (I never cease to be amazed how many people in these parts are related).

From the gravel site, we bushwhacked through the woods. I soon had no idea where we were headed and was very impressed that Bob didn't even need a compass. After considerable walking we came to an interesting ridge: about 30 feet high, 200 feet wide at the base, and ten feet wide at the top. We walked along the ridge for a quarter of a mile. By trying hard at one spot and using our imagination, we were able to convince ourselves that, except for a few trees, there was a potential view of Mt. Whiteface.

Bob told us that we were walking on an esker – a ridge of gravel left by glaciers thousands of years ago. After we came off the esker, we stomped around for another couple of hours. Without trails it was not easy going, and we often came to wet areas that caused detours. Overall, my impression was that one third of the land was wet (wet by my definition meant too wet to build on), but the other two thirds had potential.

In our discussion on the way home, I discovered that Carol didn't like the land but thought it would be a good investment. I felt that, while it didn't match up to the two-pond parcel we had almost bought, it was such a good buy that it didn't matter. It was only $45000 for the 160 acres. Even if just 90 acres were dry land that was $500 per acre, a very reasonable price for something with so much road frontage. We decided to purchase the land for its investment potential  after having spent less than 4 hours on the 160 acres. What babes in the woods! I had no idea how much we had left to luck. Fortunately, it turned out that luck was indeed with us.

When I purchased the land in 1975 I was 33 years old. With hindsight, I was very fortunate to purchase it at a relatively young age. I have had the luxury of maturing with the land. Just think, having owned the land for three decades, many of the trees have added more than thirty feet to their height. Also, I have been able to see the effects of thinning out weed trees. The favored trees that were kept have not only added height, they have spread out to fill the openings that were created. While I have also undergone physical changes in that time, I prefer not to dwell on them! It is my developing closeness to the land and nature that is most meaningful.

The Cooperative Extension Service

When we made the offer on the land, I had little knowledge of forestry. Bob Lloyd, our real estate agent, told me about helpful government agencies. So even before the land was legally ours, I began to learn about forestry, writing to various sources of information. One of the places I wrote was the Carroll County Cooperative Extension Service.

The Cooperative Extension Service, established in 1914, is a partnership between the US. Department of Agriculture and the land-grant universities. Many of the programs extend educational opportunities in agriculture to the community, such as providing a County Forester. Other programs, specifically human nutrition and home economics, are concerned with the health and welfare of the people.

Of particular interest were the free services of County Foresters, available to private, municipal, and industrial lands, which offered me two benefits. First, I, as a new land-rich money-poor forest landowner, had a convenient source of free information. But even more importantly, because the forester has no financial incentive for recommending one course of action over another, he is influenced only by what is best for the environment and the landowner.

Peter Pohl, the County Forester for Carroll County, responded to my letter requesting help. He replied that he would be happy to meet with me and would offer advice on our forestland  as soon we actually owned it. Included in Peter's response was a circular entitled Introduction to Forest Management in New Hampshire, a good resource for beginners like me. The main thrust of its 35 pages was to convince the woodlot owner not to neglect the woods, but to manage them. It listed a variety of land management goals, many of which could be combined. Such goals included improving wildlife habitat, encouraging recreation, producing Christmas trees, allowing personal privacy, and producing wood products (firewood, pulp wood, lumber, etc.).

It remained to be seen which management goals would be important to me, but I definitely planned to manage my woods. They were bought as an investment and a managed investment should appreciate faster than an unmanaged one. If the well-groomed expensive forest property we had lost out on was any example, the work I would do to improve wildlife habitat and increase recreational potential would bring an increase in monetary value to our property.

Peter Pohl

Peter will appear frequently in this book. Since he has influenced the development of this land, it might be beneficial to learn what has influenced him. The following two paragraphs are quoted from the fall, 1982 issue of Forest Notes.

A native of Connecticut, who came to New Hampshire with his family as a sub-teen, he has a strong background for contending with these new harvesting technique) and other issues in his North Country domain. He was graduated from University of New Hampshire with a Bachelor of Science Degree in 1966, then obtained a Master's Degree there in Forestry. After serving in the Army Signal Corps in Korea as a lieutenant, he returned to the state and worked for a private consulting forester. In late 1969 he joined the Extension Service in Carroll County.

Six months of temporary duty as Assistant County Forester got "extended', and he became the County Forester in 1971. He has conducted and taken part in all manner of workshops, demonstrations and panels covering aspects of forestry, and has been a member and chairman of the Conservation Commission in Sandwich, his hometown. He has also served on the Town Forest Committee, and Budget Committee, and is a trustee of the Federated Church. He has also been a trustee of the Chocorua Lake Conservation Foundation and of the Tin Mountain Conservation Center, an education organization for schools, in Jackson.

My First Trail

In October 1975, the papers were signed and the land in Sandwich became legally ours. When Carol and I were divorced the next year; she got our home in Massachusetts and I threw my soul into Sandwich. Why did we divorce? Probably a better question would be why did we marry, especially at 21 years of age. With hindsight, I shudder to think how much I did not know back then! Some people do marry at early ages and live happily ever after, but not us. The saddest thing about the divorce, as is true for too many cases, was how it affected the children. Would they have been better off if the marriage continued? Probably not, but that unanswerable question still haunts me.

When the land was purchased, there were negligible trails on it. I was not used to walking through wild forest that looked as if people had last visited it decades ago. I needed to do something to aid in my exploration of my new domain. A fortuitous encounter helped me decide what my first project would be.

I found some surveying tape, (colored nylon ribbon used for marking) tied to trees, and eventually discovered that they formed a straight line; in fact, it was a north-south line. This seemed curious so I set about to find out where the tapes led, not an easy task since the woods were thick. Adding to the difficulties was that I am color-perception challenged, the red tape tended to get lost in the green foliage (why don't surveyors use blue?).

To try to follow and mark the boundary line, I discovered the trick of using a 100 foot length of rope. I would lay the rope in a straight line between two of the surveying tapes and use a handsaw (I had yet to use, let alone purchase, a chainsaw) to clear the rope's route so I could sight back along the rope for the entire 100 feet. Then it was relatively easy to drag the rope in a straight line to where the next tape was located. Usually it was no big deal to find the next tape, but once in a while there would be a distance of about 400 feet between tapes  then it was a challenge.

The game of follow the tapes progressed slowly. On day two, I passed though a low, slightly swampy area for about 500 feet. I found a small brook, a foot across and a few inches deep surrounded by small trees, mostly hardwoods. Then the land started to climb slightly so that the soil was no longer wet and the trees were bigger.

Wonder of wonders, I came to an iron pipe that had blue tape tied to it  blue as if it knew the color challenged kid