Thankfulness is found in the timber

Fieldwork is finished earlier than usual this year and I’m feeling thankful for a safe and successful harvest. Fall calves are on the ground and I’m thankful each cow gave birth without complications. And every day as I walk across this rolling land, I’m thankful for the trees — over a hundred acres of timber — each species consequential to this ecosystem we call home.

I’m feeling thankful for the oak trees — great spreading limbs raining acorns with tiny caps — a feast this time of year for deer, turkeys, squirrels, mice and all manner of birds fattening up and storing food for the coming winter. This year the oaks are masting — producing an unusually large number of acorns. Perhaps some of those seeds will germinate and become an oak tree for future generations to appreciate.

I’m feeling thankful for the cottonwood trees growing on the rim of creeks and waterways. My favorite is a stout centenarian about 80 feet tall whose leaves were a shimmering mass of gold just days ago. Come spring she’ll loose millions of white downy seeds to float across the fields — an annual snowstorm of fertility.

I’m feeling thankful for the basswood trees and their many trunks growing in a circle from a single stump. Native Americans made rope, baskets, and fish nets from its fibrous inner bark — also used to treat migraines, burns and wounds. When summer comes again its branches will be filled with bees who favor the nectar from its fragrant flowers.

I’m feeling thankful for the hickory trees with their conspicuous shaggy bark. Its nuts were an important food source for early settlers, who also discovered it makes for excellent firewood. Hickory is exceptionally durable and consistent, which explains its preference by legendary drummers Buddy Rich, Ringo Starr and John Bonham for fabrication of their drumsticks.

I’m feeling thankful for the walnut trees so coveted by lumbermen who stop by regularly to propose we negotiate a price to harvest them. But each tree is its own priceless ecology — providing food and shelter for wildlife, birds and insects as well as shady refuge for cattle who cluster under its leafy crown on warm sunny days.

And I’m feeling thankful we will continue to be, like generations before us, part of the farming community. And as Mary Oliver said in her poem, The Black Walnut Tree, “something brighter than money moves in our blood” when we think of this land and these trees.

Susan Koch is a writer who lives in Iowa City. She and her husband, Dennis, farm and raise purebred Angus cattle in Muscatine County.