I came across a small woodlot while waiting for a train to wizz by on the tracks – I suppose that’s a few too many words as unless there is some sort of calamity occurring, trains only go by on the tracks and they don’t really wizz – it’s more like a clackity-hum-grrr whooshing sort of thing.
For those who are unfamiliar with the term:
A woodlot is a term used in North America to refer to a segment of a woodland or forest capable of small-scale production of forest products such as wood fuel, sap for maple syrup, sawlogs, as well as recreational uses like bird watching, bushwalking, and wildflower appreciation. In Britain a woodlot would be called a wood, woodland or coppice.
Many woodlots occur as part of a larger farm or as buffers and undevelopable land between these and other property types such as housing subdivisions, industrial forests, or public properties (highways, parks, watersheds, etc). Very small woodlots can occur where a subdivision has not met its development potential, or where terrain does not easily permit other uses.
Very large woodlots (hundreds of acres) might emerge where profitable wood species have been depleted by commercial logging practices or compromised by diseases, leaving little choice but to divide and liquidate the real estate for other purposes.
One distinguishing characteristic of a woodlot is that the parcel size or quality of wood on the parcel does not generally justify full-scale commercial harvesting, leaving many woodlots as private investments by individuals. On the other hand, good forest management practices, even on a small scale, may create a sustainable source of products, which can significantly contribute to the aggregate inventory available to forest-product consumers.
Thank you Wikipedia… Anyhow – there was a perfectly wonderful and apparently rather abandoned wood lot right in front of me and I do love all things natural, especially when it involves the forestry industry.
I spent much of my life around trees, both standing and turned into handy objects such as cabins, bridges and totem poles, many of which were old and weathered into glorious shades of grey and silver. Being a native of the west coast I am in many ways a child of the forest – you know, hippy chicks that wear sandals, ride a coaster bike and can tell you the correct fuel to oil mixture for a chainsaw just by looking at it.
I am such a geek…
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