I live on a farm in the heart of Oregon’s Willamette Valley. When my Great Grandfather purchased the first few acres over 100 years ago, much of the area was deep in Douglas Fir and Big Leaf Maple. Small streams watered and sculpted rolling hills, creating wetlands, joining into creeks working their way to the Willamette River.
In my lifetime I’ve seen many small forests cleared for cropland, and streams buried underground in tiles, their wetlands disappearing with the roar of a bulldozer.
Eventually cropland gets paved over for subdivisions and shopping centers, the human version of “succession”.
But on our farm, we kept our little woods. Sheep and cattle sometimes made trails through the shade, but my grandparents, then my parents, loved the trees and respected the role of seasonal streams and wetlands. “I’m going to the woods” was understood in our family.
When the sheep were gone, invasive vines took over. By the time my husband and I assumed management of the farm, it seemed too late for our sad little woods. Entire trees towering 100 feet in the air were completely suffocated with thick wild clematis. Others were being slowly strangled by English Ivy. Thorny walls of Himalayan Blackberry 12 feet high made much of the woods impenetrable.
Ever have a deep heart wish for something impossible? Every once in awhile, impossible things become possibilities.
Invasive wild clematis vine completely covers a maple tree.
A story of a fifteen acre woods and our lessons in conservation.