26 VIRGINIA FORESTS Fall is often a time for reflecting. As the days get shorter and the temperatures turn cooler, I start looking towards hunting season. It’s time to get out the gear, sight in your rifle and check your stands. My mind begins to wander, and I’m flooded with thoughts of hunting seasons past: the ones that got away, the trophies we harvested, and the days spent in the field telling stories with friends and family. It is during these moments that I realize my love of the forest lies within these times spent afield. The forest captures our memories and embodies our happiness. It is like a time capsule. Sitting in an old deer stand, you can see the ghost of a buck you harvested 20 years ago appear out of the shadows. It feels just like it was yesterday. It is not just being in the forest, but the time lived in the woods, that sparks these recollections. Some of my earliest memories from the woods originated from my youth spent at our cabin in Madison County, Va. When we first arrived, my job was to pick up sticks to build a fire in our fireplace. There was nothing better than the smell of that fire as it warmed the cool, damp air of our cabin. Our whole family would go for walks along the forest roads and trails. I had my little walking stick and a pocket full of peanuts to shell as we roamed these mountainside trails. My little legs tried to keep up with my family, who were all much older and taller than me. After our hikes, I’d watch as my family played horseshoes. My job was to fetch beer and pick up the horseshoes that got away and rolled down the hill. I patiently waited my turn to play with the adults for what always seemed like an eternity. When we write about the benefits of a forest, we sometimes get caught up in the most tangible items, such as the forest products that we can sell. What draws me to the forest are the things that I cannot see, the intangibles. It is the feelings I get whenever I’m there. It is the memories the forest holds for me, storing these memories just as it stores carbon, creating the heartwoods of my soul. I’m connected to the forest as it holds the memories of our loved ones who have passed away, of time spent with old friends, or just time spent alone, being one with nature. I hear and see little miracles at every turn. I close my eyes and remember lying awake at night and hearing crickets and peepers call as I fell asleep as a child in my bunkbed. The sounds of the forest are not silent but are almost deafening if you know how to listen. The smell of smoke from a crackling campfire or the fire of a good bourbon shared with good friends. My father loved to cut firewood. He would cut the wood, and I would split and load the truck. Some of the best memories in my life were sharing a beer with my dad and listening to him tell me stories as we sat on the tailgate of a pick-up truck weighted down with wood. My father was a firewood snob. We only cut oak and hickory for the woodstove. Locust was like gold. It burned hot and would last forever in the woodpile. He had a whole winter’s worth of locust in his woodpile when he passed, just in case he ever needed it. I can remember coming home from college after taking dendrology. I had always wanted to be a mountain man that knew the lore of the forest. For the first time, I could identify all of the different trees that I saw in the woods and was proud to show it off to my father. My father had quizzed me as we would ride the mountain roads, “What tree is that?” I thought for a second and replied, “Northern Red Oak.” I even included the Latin name, “Quercus Rubra.” Forest Memories TAILGATE TALK by Matt Dowdy, Magazine Editorial Committee A tailgate talk with my dad, G.C. Dowdy. Wedding day for Jessica and Matt Dowdy.
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