EDITOR'S NOTE: This story is part of our series examining the
forestry industry in Nova Scotia. OHIO VALLEY — A slow dance of
murder and sex is unfolding outside Gabe Chisholm’s door. It’s
wondrous and cruel. The yellow birch has got an arm out over its
black spruce neighbour. After a struggle that began when John
Diefenbaker was prime minister, it’ll finally block out the sun
from its prickly friend this summer. A stand of fir is
practising a chemical warfare that would make tin-pot dictators
weep with envy, dropping acidic needles to poison any upstart
heirs threatening their limited resources of water and light.
Meanwhile, a black and red spruce are pollinating in broad
daylight, casting aside the conservatism of Roman Catholic
Antigonish County. A townie goes for a hike, smells pollen,
feels the quivering sunlight and shadow cast by tall hardwoods
and ponders nature’s peace. Chisholm goes for a walk and sees
the Shakespearian drama of the forest playing out. The selective
harvester knows nature’s currency