Beach Exploration: Driftwood

"The three great elemental sounds in nature are

the sound of rain,

the sound of wind in a primeval wood,

and the sound of the outer ocean on a beach."

Henry Beston

After a nearly unprecedented 8 weeks without a drop of rain, the weather has finally turned sodden again in our corner of the world. Trying to finish up gardening chores, I've found the ground in most areas dry as far down as I've dug. Many garden plants and vegetables suffered during this drought and needed to be watered, but native species (although now heaving a collective sigh of relief) will do just fine. They have, after all, lived here for eons and are well-adapted to the soggy winters/summer droughts of the Pacific Northwest. Some of the deciduous trees that are bone dry have given up early, simply dropping their leaves without a lasting show of autumn color.

The huge conifers are drooping and many of the cedars are "flagging" prolifically.

It is perfectly normal for them to do this on occasion, but these stately giants of the tree world require rich, damp soil to thrive and hot, dry weather may stress them enough that some of their needles turn a rich orangish-brown and drop. The return of the rains will undoubtedly perk them all up again.

 

Although our local beaches vary considerably, they are never far from fresh water runoff and lush vegetation - usually in the form of large conifers.

 

 

 

And so it is not surprising that driftwood is common, whether carried by water from somewhere else and washed up on shore or crashing down from the many high banks as endless erosion takes its toll.

Either way, it is at the mercy of the sea and its endless ebbing and flowing. With time, all wood here is "sanded" down to its essence with all trace of leaves, bark, and branches scoured away.

 

Some driftwood fits its name and drifts along with the seas - for who knows how long - picking up all kinds of passengers. Some use logs as a resting place or hook a ride for a bit;

others are in it for the long haul, attaching themselves permanently to the wood.

 

Some of this wood has been purposefully transported here by humans for constructing piers and various other structures.

Depending on the type of wood and the severity of the coastal waves, some of these can remain in place for many, many years.

Humans have never been able to resist using this wood, which nature has already cut, limbed, and stacked.

Depending on where they lived and what the land offered, various Indian tribes have used this readily-available resource for fire, shelter, tools, utensils, art objects, and boats.

 

There are stories of early-day pioneers collecting and lugging this wood to what they deemed a suitable home site on which to build a simple shelter.

"Every time we walk along a beach
some ancient urge disturbs us

so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments

or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers

like the homesick refugees of a long war."
Loren Eiseley

 

 

The lure is still there - as evidenced by the "play" structures, pieces of art, and campfire remnants still found on any beach with a reasonable amount of driftwood.

 

 

With time, isopods, shipworms, and bacteria decompose the wood and gradually turn it into nutrients that are returned to the food web of the sea. Nature, ever the master recycler, never wastes a thing. 
 

 

No matter the season, or weather, we return to the beach - to relax, walk, listen, observe, contemplate... for it is here that we are renewed, cleansed, reminded of our place in the greater scheme of life. Storms are bound to come - we may be battered and worn down, our size and shape may change, but we will also become hardened and polished. Like driftwood, we toss about on the seas of life, following the ebb and flow, until we wash up on some steady shore - rough edges removed, outer facade stripped away. If our inner grain runs straight, strong, and true, we will be primed and ready for whatever "new use" we can be put to. Are you ready?

 

"If you want to build a ship,

don't drum up people together to collect wood

and don't assign them tasks and work,

but rather teach them
to long for the endless immensity of the sea."
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

For other BEACH EXPLORATIONS,  please click below:
SAND
SEA STARS
SNAILS

TIMBER!

Our house is old. Not ancient, nor historic - just comfortably lived in since the 1950’s when it was built. Although it’s had several additions over the years, the original part of the house has natural wood ceilings with thick, old, open beams and wide planks running across those. In the evenings the house plays its own symphony - moaning, groaning, and loudly cracking as the old beams contract with the cooling air. Morning sounds the same, as the wood slowly expands with the warmth of day. We’ve grown accustomed to the sounds, but visitors are often startled by the loud cracks.

Since the beginning, wood has been valued for making tools, houses, and myriad other things of use to mankind. Native Americans were the first to cut down and use trees in our area. Drift logs landing on the beach were welcomed and used, but they could not supply all the needs of a village. Thousands of years before the first non-natives arrived, they learned to fell the giant trees, using a variety of tools and methods.

Early explorers were impressed with the huge trees, seeking them from the very beginning for use on their sailing ships. The tall, straight firs and spruces were especially desired for ship spars - those tall, wooden poles which held their sails and rigging. They readily traded with the native people, gleaning their knowledge of the great trees and enlisting their help to acquire them. Although newcomers developed their own methods of logging, there is no doubt they observed and learned much from the Native’s methods.

There were no roads back then, only the water and a few native or animal trails, so people usually traveled by boat. In the 1850s, the first sawmills here were supplied with logs from trees growing near the water. Loggers began at the water’s edge and cut their way inland. Getting logs from forest to mill was a challenge and methods developed and changed as necessary to supply the growing need. Before the railroad arrived, loggers used horse and ox teams to drag logs over skid roads down to the water, where the logs were formed into huge rafts and floated to the mills. By 1881, a Seattle paper reported that the best timber had been cut from the shore of Hood Canal one and a half miles back for its entire length. The same was true for most readily accessible areas around the Puget Sound.

Human need is nothing new. In 950 BC, mighty King Solomon set out to build his massive temple, followed by an impressive palace. To complete the projects, he needed quality materials and highly-skilled craftsmen. Being practical, as well as wise, he established a working relationship with Hiram, king of Tyre to acquire all the timber he needed. He completed both in 20 years.

Apparently, “bigger is better” is not a new concept, either. Exactly how much house, furniture, and toys are enough? Enveloped and protected by the native woods in our home, I wonder - at what point does “need” become “greed”?

So Hiram sent word to Solomon:

"I have received the message you sent me and will do all you want in providing the cedar and pine logs. My men will haul them down from Lebanon to the sea, and I will float them in rafts by sea to the place you specify. There I will separate them and you can take them away. And you are to grant my wish by providing food for my royal household."

1 Kings 5:8-9

By your messengers

you have heaped insults on the Lord.

And you have said, 

"With my many chariots

I have ascended the heights of the mountains

the utmost heights of Lebanon.

I have cut down its tallest cedars,

the choicest of its pines.

I have reached its remotest parts,

the finest of its forests..."

2 Kings 19:23