Art & Words by
HOWARD B. TAYLOR

There was so much timber in Oregon that it was crowding the shores of our waterways for standing room. Waterways were blessed with giants already leaning, in most cases, toward the water because there was light there. All that was necessary was to cut them off and watch them fall, then buck them into logs and float them to the mill.

The mill stood in timber. It had been logged, but so few trees were taken that at a distance one could not even miss them. Only the choice were logged.

The pioneer had so much timber that he was timber poor. It was in his way. He could not eat it and he could not sell it. It obstructed him. These great trees were in all fact and practical purposes, weeds and a pernicious nuisance.