CHAPTER 3: Thoughts from Thoreau

Faculty and students chose their seats inside UCLA’s Royce Hall in Westwood, a college neighborhood on the west side of Los Angeles. Staffers from the L.A. branches of the Sequoia Club and Wildness Society joined them, along with a handful of regulars including Westwood couples who chose lectures over the movies. No popcorn, no soda. Cheap entertainment and sometimes they learned something.

On the stage, a short man in a blue blazer, khakis and a brown tie festooned with little green pine trees, fussed at the podium. Where are they? he thought, checking his smartwatch and noticing that his blood pressure was elevated. Shit, he thought and it spiked a few more points. I miss my father’s pocket watch.

Next to the podium, Grace Newman sat alone at a long table, studying the audience. About a third were masked in a fruitless attempt to dodge the COVID virus. Won’t be long before they’re all breathing in toxic CO2 levels, she thought as she studied, with worry, a masked and heavily pregnant woman take a seat.

A door at the back opened and protestors’ chants floated in; heads turned. A security guard hustled a harried group of four up the side aisle; a second guard pulled the heavy door closed, silencing the chants outside.

The man with the pine tree tie welcomed the latecomers as they found their places on the stage. They nodded and smiled at Grace as they sat, poured water from glass pitchers. The lights blinked once, twice, three times, and the audience settled.

“Good evening and welcome,” said the man with the pine tree tie. “I am Dr. Anton Boisvert, Director of UCLA’s College of Environmental Biology. Facilitating tonight’s discussion will be UCLA alumni and Los Angeles Tribune environmental reporter, Grace Newman.”

Grace smiled to a smattering of applause and Dr. Boisvert frowned. “We’re running late so please hold your applause until the end.” The room went silent and he continued, “Ms Newman won well-deserved awards for her coverage of the 30-year anniversary of the Timber Summit which preserved precious habitat for the critically endangered northern spotted owl. Tonight we’ll explore how Pacific Northwest timber-dependent communities are rebuilding under carefully crafted sustainable harvest levels. Ms Newman?”

Grace rose and took the podium to enthusiastic clapping. Dr. Boisvert flashed a disapproving look and it ceased abruptly.

“Thank you, Dr. Boisvert,” she said, “and UCLA for hosting this session, ‘Building Back Better with Sustainable Forestry’. In 1993, President Clinton and Vice President Al Gore, organized a Timber Summit to  develop solutions to save forest habitat, wildlife and timber-dependent communities. Out of various alternatives, Option 9 was chosen and implemented. Unfortunately, thirty years later, the spotted owl continues its decline and in 2023 the US Fish and Wildlife Service presented its Barred Owl Management Plan with six alternatives, recommending the public support Alternative 2.”

She smiled. “Thoreau—one of the greatest naturalist thinkers of the 19th Century—said, ‘In Wildness is the preservation of the World.’ Let’s keep that in mind as we examine the challenges we face protecting our forests.”

Grace nodded at the speakers. “Paula Karmin of The Wildness Society is with us tonight. As its sustainability director, Ms Karmin overseas Pacific Northwest timber harvest plans, a daunting task.” Karmin nodded and smiled.

“Dr. Joseph Stratton is with us,” said Grace. At his seat, Dr. Stratton nodded and shuffled his notes. “The respected author of several excellent books on forest ecosystem health, Dr. Stratton has won numerous awards for his insightful writing.

“Dr. George Willet, Director of Government Relations for GreenTree Forest Products will share his thoughts on their global timber operations.” Dr. Willet offered up a big smile. Grace continued, “Dr. Willet has a Masters in International Relations from Yale and resides in DC with his wife Nancy who works at Eco-World, a nonprofit dedicated to reversing climate change to secure a sustainable future.”

Grace said, “We also welcome Jackson Armstrong who has a B.S. in Forest Management, and an M.S. in Silviculture and Forest Economics from the University of Washington. A third-generation logger and mill owner, Mr. Armstrong brings a lifetime of experience to the discussion.” Jackson nodded.

“Welcome to all our panelists,” said Grace to polite applause. Dr. Boisvert looked at his smartwatch and frowned. The applause faded away.

“Paula,” said Grace, “can you get us started? Share your thoughts?”

Grace took her seat as Paula Karmin, a small woman rose and adjusted the microphone at the podium. “Thank you, Grace,” she said. “Our planet is a delicate interwoven web of life and our ancient forests, and the animals relying on them for sustenance, must be preserved for future generations. As the Wildness Society expressed in its public comments supporting the Forest’s Service’s Management Plan for the invasive barred owl, Option 9 failed to reduce man’s presence. Plundered and raped, our Pacific Northwest forests should be closed to abusive extractive industries like mining, logging, fishing, hunting and cattle ranching. It’s all ecocide.”

At the end of the table, Jackson Armstrong inhaled sharply. Karmin continued, “The Wildness Society supports non-consumptive use of forests such as hiking combined with limited access to open space within 15-minute cities. We remain dedicated to the preservation of wilderness where man remains a stranger.”

She detailed various points on sustainability, adding, “By stopping the export of US lumber, we’ll have plenty of wood to supply America’s needs. Rainforest timber must be banned globally, to save the planet from climate change—we’re running out of time!”

She concluded with, “Rejecting the past industrial madness requires a revolutionary commitment to ecological and social sustainability—social justice, equity—combined with a biocentric respect for Gaia and our intimate relationship with Her.”

Karmin gathered up her notes and took her seat as Grace flipped on her microphone at the table. “Thank you, Paula. Insightful,” she said. “Dr. Stratton, please share your views.”

Dr. Stratton took the podium. He wore glasses with stripes inside the frames, a distraction from his pale face, bald head and double chin. He smiled and reported that National Geographic had selected his latest book, Our Fragile Forests, for a series. “The book details a dozen forestry hot spots, examples of man’s lack of vision in the face of climate change,” he said. “Tongass in Alaska is included, as are the Brazilian rainforests and Australia’s Daintree Rainforest, plus our own Northwest temperate rainforests—places of unbelievable beauty with trees of awesome majesty. Everyplace I chose is threatened by farming, livestock grazing, logging, mining. Devastating human-caused fires are accelerating losses. Killing such immeasurable sacredness for personal gain is unthinkable, immoral. Our last remaining ancient old growth must be preserved, untouched, unsullied forever.”

Jackson rolled his agenda into a tube and gripped it tightly with both fists.

Dr. Stratton raised his voice and said, “We cannot keep carving up the world into dead bits and pieces, resources to be exploited, measured on balance sheets by capitalists. The Earth holds its own intrinsic value. We need new ways of valuing nature in ways that address the threats of climate change while preserving the oceans and the forests. The United Nations’ 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development sets aside 30% of the earth by 2030 and is a blueprint for peace and prosperity. Its 17 Sustainable Development Goals, the SDGs, embraced by developed and developing countries in a global partnership, will create economic growth. A Green Economy, a Blue Economy will end poverty, improve health and education, reduce inequality, and save the world from the climate change disaster.”

He paused, studied the audience and closed with, “The Earth deserves—no, demands—that we respect her beauty and power! The UN is leading the way. We need to follow. If we don’t, we will all surely perish.”

Grace leaned into her microphone and added, “Dr. Stratton will be available afterwards to sign books. Now let’s hear from GreenTree’s Dr. George Willet.”

In his late fifties with hair neatly graying at the temples, Dr. Willet addressed the crowd with a voice as crisp and sharp as his suit. On a screen behind him, a PowerPoint rolled through bullet points interspersed with images of beautiful forests and abundant wildlife.

“At GreenTree,” he said, “we believe good business is compatible with strong environmental ethics. We are committed to environmentally-sound methods, planting six trees for every one harvested on long thirty-five year cycles. We protect watersheds and riparian zones to preserve fish spawning areas. We use the latest technology for harvesting while protecting the land.”

A young man with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail noticed the speech came from the communications material on GreenTree’s website. He read along on his phone at the same pace as Dr. Willet. His friends laughed. One yelled, “Multi-billion-dollar multi-national GreenTree is clear cutting Indonesia for palm oil!” His friends shushed him.

Paula Karmin hid a small smile; Dr. Willet ignored the outburst. He concluded his presentation with a slide of the company logo and website address, followed by a shot of a forest floor dotted with tiny white flowers.

"As a multi-domestic, GreenTree is committed to being a good neighbor wherever we work on Mother Earth. Our products carry the Sustainable Forests Seal. To support sustainability, only purchase SFS-certified lumber and paper products! Thank you!”

“Thank you, Dr. Willet, and our final speaker is Jackson Armstrong,” said Grace, reading from her notes, “from Washington State’s Yellow Ribbon Alliance, ‘a grassroots group dedicated to securing healthy communities and healthy forests’.”

Behind the table, Jackson straightened his lanky torso. He was in his thirties with dark hair and a tanned angular face. He wore jeans and a pressed, but slightly faded, blue shirt under a dark gray business jacket too heavy for Southern California. Grace noticed his hands—big, rough and weathered hands with a thick gold wedding band on his ring finger.

He walked to the podium and said, “Thanks for having me. I’m from Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula, a 3,600-square-mile heavily timbered and rugged mountainous dome that juts out into the Pacific Ocean. The Peninsula has its own climate—one side holds the wettest forest in the Lower 48, the other grows cactus. We’re a 3-hour hop across the Salish Sea to Canada, about 4 hours west of Seattle. From L.A., we’re 1,200 miles north, an 18 hour drive. Pop up and visit sometime, but bring your umbrella because we get about 10 feet of rain a year.” He grinned.

“1,400 square miles of the Olympic Peninsula is National Park with about 580 square miles of designated old growth trees, drawing in three million visitors a year, mostly in the summer months. While L.A. County covers 4,000 square miles with 10 million residents and God only knows how many tourists, the Olympic Peninsula’s 3,600 square miles are home to 200,000, including eight tribes and generational loggers managing land, harvesting trees, selling wood products. I was born and raised in one of these timber towns, Silvercreek—population 400, down from 2,000 pre-spotted owl listing. Are we thriving post Option 9? That would be a definite no.” He paused.

“Ms Newman said, ‘In Wildness is the preservation of the World’, a quote from a series of talks Thoreau gave, published after his death in The Atlantic, 1862. That particular talk was entitled ‘Walking’, a good theme for what we’re doing tonight, taking a walk in the forest.” He paused, continued, “Thoreau said:

I believe in the forest, and in the meadow, and in the night in which the corn grows.

“The forest, the meadow, corn growing under the cycles of the moon—all valued by humans for their intrinsic beauty and utilitarian value. Thoreau’s audience of agrarians knew they could not survive without the forests. Its bounty provides our shelters. Open space in the forests—meadows—feed wild grazers, sustain carnivores and omnivores including humans. Forests store water for people, wildlife, for the farmer’s fields and rancher’s livestock down in the valleys.”

Jackson studied the room. “Today, in modern America,” he said, “that connection, that respect for the utilitarian, is lost. It’s a disconnect. We in Silvercreek are not timber-dependent. You are.”

The audience hushed, some shook their heads. “Thoreau said:

The West of which I speak is but another name for the Wild; …in Wildness is the preservation of the World. Every tree sends its fibers forth in search of the Wild. The cities import it at any price. Men plow and sail for it. From the forest and wilderness come the tonics and barks which brace mankind.

“Thoreau also said:

Our ancestors were savages. The story of Romulus and Remus being suckled by a wolf is not a meaningless fable. The founders of every state which has risen to eminence have drawn their nourishment and vigor from a similar wild source. It was because the children of the Empire were not suckled by the wolf that they were conquered and displaced by the children of the northern forests who were.

“So said Thoreau,” said Jackson, pausing.

The audience was quiet and Grace felt a grudging admiration for the man. She studied his big hands. One scar ran across his left hand from index finger to wrist.

“I feel something for Thoreau,” said Jackson, “because he was talking about me, about us, ‘the children of the Northern forests’.”

Jackson continued, “Long ago, when Americans were nomadic, dealing with forest fires that routinely burned millions of acres was not an issue. Regular burns reduced fuel load, released and scattered nutrients. After natural regeneration, people and animals returned. It was a good system.”

Heads in the audience nodded. Jackson explained, “Western forest tree species are very different from those in Europe, but the Europeans brought their forest management systems with them and followed the European model of fixed settlements. They cleared forests to make way for agricultural farms and fields, built villages from the milled lumber. During this expansion period, large fires destroyed whole towns. The 1825 Miramichi Fire burned three million acres, killed 160 people. In 1871, there was the Great Michigan and Peshtigo Fires—the Peshtigo fire killed over 1,500 people.”

There was a gasp from a young woman in the front row.

Jackson continued, “The 1908 Forest Fires Emergency Act declared war on wildfire. Nature didn’t get the memo. The Great Fire of 1910 burned, in just two days, three million acres in Idaho, Montana, and Washington and killed 87 people.”

He looked down at his hands and then raised his head, explained, “Time marched on. During World War II, Pacific Northwest forests were stripped, built plywood PT boats for military campaigns in the Pacific theater. The federal government followed this by mandating overplanting—while executing fire suppression with military precision.”

He shook his head. “Not good policy.” A murmur of resentment ran through the audience, but in the front row, a young face glowed with enlightenment, filling Jackson with hope. He pressed on. “Our Western forests, historically dependent on recurrent wildfire, changed. Tree densities and fuel loads built to unprecedented levels. Instead of low-flame ground fires that cleared brush, delivered nutrients to the soil and sea, kept our forests open, we now experience catastrophic fires. Temperatures soar over 1800° Fahrenheit in the canopy; 1600° on the soil surface—so hot it sterilizes the soil to where the forest may never naturally regenerate.”

Jackson studied the audience, then said, “Today, long after Thoreau praised Wildness and utilitarian values, societal values changed, embraced centralized preservationist policies which are delivering mismanagement on a massive scale. In closing, let’s just say that we never could see the forest for all the trees,  but now we can’t see the forest for all the smoke.”

Jackson returned to his seat while the audience shifted in theirs. Dr. Stratton whispered to Paula Karmin. She shook her head.

“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong,” said Grace. “Let’s move on to questions.” A few hands in the audience fluttered and Grace called on a young man in the second row.

“Mr. Armstrong,” he asked. “Are you saying bad policy is forcing Pacific Northwest timber workers to fight fires or leave? Can you expand?”

“Yes,” said Jackson. “You can read on the Yellow Ribbon Alliance’s website why thirty years ago we rejected Option 9 and why we reject the Barred Owl Management Plan’s proposal to kill, over the next thirty years, hundreds of thousands native birds of prey, the magnificent barred owl.” There was a collective gasp from the audience. “We’re loggers engaged in forest management, a noble pursuit. We harvest timber, create wood products and expect a reasonable profit to be taxed to support other public goods like education. In 2003, passage of the Healthy Forests Restoration Act attempted to address destructive wildfire. It’s been held up in litigation ever since. Massive fires? Expect more.”

The audience was quiet, uncomfortable. Dr. Willet rolled his eyes.

“Follow up question,” said the young man. “You’re advocating a return to using wood? Exactly how much wood?”

Jackson rubbed his jawline and said, “The industrial age declared small hydro, modest lumber mills and windmills, our hearths and bread ovens, to be primitive, inefficient, dirty. The magic of electricity dazzled the Powers That Be. The solution offered for the massive amounts of energy required for manufacturing was an urban brotherhood sharing a communal power grid, electricity piped and wired in—clean and convenient, delivered at the flip of a switch. No more cutting, hauling and stacking wood! No more coal deliveries. No more smoke! Ever-bigger facilities moved forward on a tortured path from wood to fossil fuels—coal, diesel, natural gas—to massive hydro and nuclear installations.”

There was hissing from the audience and Dr. Boisvert shot Grace a look, but she was curious where he was going with this idea and let him continue. “Similar to the large-scale factory model of production,” said Jackson, “small farms fell to large monoculture crop production. Industrial agriculture, Big Ag ruled and whole towns were killed off by bad policy—soft eviction, it’s called. The quilt of farm and field and forest—small town America—has collapsed.”

He shook his head and said, “Wood and fire—which supported our lives from when we were nomads telling stories around campfires—were forcibly abandoned and that disconnected us from our relationship with fire, from the forests that give us watersheds, shelter, fuel, food, beauty and life. Where wood is abundant, yes, it should be utilized.”

“Interesting,” said Grace. “Would our other speakers like to respond?”

“Absolutely,” said Paul Karmin. “Nothing about rising CO2 levels? Little concern about timber harvesting which we all know is one of the most destructive industries on the planet.”

I hate that phrase, ‘we all know’, thought Grace, because we never actually do. She studied the audience. All eyes turned to the logger. “Ms Karmin has made an accusation, Mr. Jackson,” said Grace. “Would you like to respond?”

“I would,” he said. “Yes, breezes blew our rising CO2 levels over the landscape. The trees inhaled it, digested it, grew faster, taller, thicker. Memories faded, but we never forgot our forests, our old home. The trees grew great around us, magnificent. We preserved them, revered them. They are the stuff of legend; they are myth—as is the tale of owls with spots struggling to survive against those with stripes.”

“Lies,” muttered Paula Karmin under her breath.

Jackson said, “Time passed. The particulates, the pollution, from our modern industrial society, drifted overhead. We invested in efficiency to reduce visible pollution, buried and burned whatever was left. Industry dodged attacks over its pollution, focused policy on what it deemed a pollutant, CO2, the very breath of humans and all the other animals; the CO2 forests inhale in order to live.”

Someone hissed at the back of the room. Four people walked out and two protesters snuck in. Paula Karmin smiled and Grace moved to cut Jackson off but he added quickly, “These heavily subsidized bad ideas have gone global and the planet’s now lit up like Vegas. We no longer see the stars.”

Grace chose a woman in the front row for a question. “The logger’s got a point,” she said to groans.

Karmin flipped on her microphone, said, “He’s deflecting, changing he subject.”

“Thank you Paula,” said Grace. To the woman in the front row she said, “Please, ask your question.”

The woman said, “Citizens have little control over forest or energy policy—it’s dictated by treaty, which is the supreme law of the land per Article 6 of the Constitution—look it up. Slave labor in developing countries mines the raw materials, manufactures panels and turbines and batteries which are shipped using fossil fuels to developed countries where they are installed by itinerant—often illegal—workers. Could Dr. Stratton comment on the fact that there is no end-of-life plan for these industrial pollutants which are negatively impacting wildlife and all the owls?”

Dr. Stratton turned on his microphone. “I agree,” he said, “that the industrial complex isn’t going down without a fight. Books like Silent Spring and Silent Snow warned us about the invisible byproducts of the industrial dream, forever chemicals—BPA, PCBs, PFAS, POPs, MTBE, SF6. We’re working globally to address this pollution.”

Paula Karmin nodded, leaned in and added, “The Wildness Society has a whole section on our website dedicated to reducing industrial pollutants.”

Couch potato politics, thought Jackson with a tiny smile that Grace noticed.

“Grace chose another audience member for a question, a middle-aged woman wearing pink. “Mr. Armstrong, you can’t possibly be suggesting we return to burning wood in our fireplaces for heat, can you?”

Jackson leaned into the microphone. “Policies ban fireplaces and wood from our homes while torching our forests,” he said. “California’s 2020 wildfire season wiped out two decades of greenhouse gas reductions and wildfires in North American and Eurasian forests released almost two billion tons of CO2 in 2021, twice as much as global aviation—including all those private planes going to all those greenie meetings.”

Someone hissed. Paula Karmin shook her head. “Paula would you like to comment?” asked Grace.

“I would,” said Paula.“Fire is nature’s way of managing forests and we can proudly say that, in California, we have the greatest prohibitions and restrictions on fire and timber harvests of any state.” She listed several laws and concluded with, “The tragedies in Paradise and Lahaina illustrate the importance of maintaining firebreaks, defensible space around houses.”

Jackson batted back, “Not just around houses,” he said. “How about around entire towns? Most of the state? Big Government and Big Green try to blame it all on climate change, but that’s just cover for bad policy that ties up every attempt to manage landscapes in the courts. It’s criminally negligent land management.”

Paula Karmin scowled. Grace called on an older man in a checked shirt for the next question. “Grace, that guy’s a plant from the timber industry,” whispered Karmin.

The man said, “California uses prison labor paid a few dollars a day for firefighting crew and, while the US imports 30% of its lumber, California imports 80%. Could Mr. Armstrong comment? Are we ignoring a billion tons of fuel in our neglected Western forests, burning far more trees than we harvest?”

Jackson nodded and said, “From 2014 through 2017, California fires burned 1.5 million acres, cost $1.5 billion to fight. In 2018, Butte County’s Camp Fire racked up a $17 billion-dollar bill, incinerated 19,000 structures and 85 residents in Paradise.” He read from a list, “Bagdad, Blue River, Canyondam, Concow, Detroit, Doyle, Elkhorn, Gates, Greenville, Grizzly Flats, Idanha, Keswick, Los Alamos, Lyons, Magalia, Maiden, Mill City, Paradise, Phoenix, Pulga, Ruth, Talent—all consumed by wildfire. Only one town made it into the press and only because the media liked its name: Paradise.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience. Paula Karmin and Dr. Stratton glanced angrily at Grace. Boos rose at the back of the room. Grace looked for the source, couldn’t locate it, chose a man in his thirties for a question. He wore a pen protector in his shirt pocket. Engineer? Teacher? she wondered.

The man said, “The US launches 50 satellites a week, determined to build out a new grid for the surveillance state. It’s tethered to cables laid on seabeds, to wires strung on transmission towers circling the globe, marring our ‘spacious skies’. When wind topples them, fire burns for miles. He borrowed more words from America, the Beautiful. “We’ve littered America ‘from sea to shining sea’ with industrial electricity generation. We’ve replanted our ‘amber waves of grain’, our ‘fruited plain’, with fields of solar panels; our ‘purple mountain majesty’ bristles with windmills.”

There was hissing and booing in the back. Grace saw that many in the audience had their arms crossed or were shaking their heads, but some were leaning forward, listening intently. One young man booed and his girlfriend whispered, “Shut up and listen.”

“Is there a question there?” Grace asked and the engineer replied, “Yes. Between our insatiable hunger for energy, and our continued neglect of our forests, how much can the planet and its inhabitants take? Mr. Armstrong, any thoughts?”

Another plant! thought Paula Karmin. How many did Armstrong ship in? Or did they use building industry staff, maybe?

“I have a few thoughts, yes,” said Jackson with a little smile. “America’s forests evolved with massive natural disturbance, wind blow downs, fire rolling on through, use by animals, including humans. We may try to turn our backs on this reality, but this landscape is destined to burn—directly by humans, indirectly by nature. The trees inhale CO2, grow faster, reclaim more territory. Our cities are built tighter, with greater density. We plant more trees, extinguish more fires. The fuel load grows. We are locked by bad policy into an unsustainable future.”

Three men in UCLA hoodies booed loudly in the back, encouraging others to join in. Several couples left by a side door, banging it loudly on their way out. A few more protestors slid in.

Dr. Stratton and Paula Karmin vied for Grace’s attention. She ignored them. They fumed while Jackson said, “Our ‘alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears’. Are we happy with this, our urban future? Maybe. 80% of us are tethered by electronic leashes to cities, up from 20% in 1860, in Thoreau’s time. Did we go willingly or were we herded in for urbanized labor, denied opportunities all over this great country, all over the planet, our planet?”

Grace heard a few boos but most of the audience seemed to be thinking about what was being said. She pointed at a studious-looking young woman for a question.

“After Communist China became a trading partner,” she said, “US opportunities were exported overseas. We’re hired to stack Chinese goods on Amazon’s shelves, to deliver pizza and food processed who knows where. Our lights glimmer late into the night as we write code and watch Netflix. We’re isolated from each other and enveloped by AI and the surveillance state!”

“If there is no question there, we’ll move on,” said Grace as security hovered and the woman reluctantly relinquished the microphone, sat down muttering, “Cut the electrical umbilical cord binding us to Empire, to the grid being built around and above us! It’s strangling us and the planet!”

“Dr. Willett, I see you want to comment,” said Grace.

“I do,” he said. “Mr. Armstrong is invoking a nostalgic past. He’s advocating using forests for wood, shelter, fiber and energy instead of preserving them for future generations.”

Jackson smiled. Gotcha, he thought, leaning into his microphone. “I believe small and scattered communities are sensible alternatives to urban living and offer natural futures. I support thinning and managing the Western forests. I support a return to use and stewardship.”

Grace watched another couple walk out angrily as Jackson asked, “‘Will paths be wrought through wilds of thought’ or will America continue to fail so spectacularly? Little of this conflict is about what’s best for the forest,” he said. “Big Green, Big Government and Big Business—like The Wildness Society and GreenTree—are the hands-down winners at this game. Globally.”

Dr. Willet protested, “Hey, now, wait a minute!” Paula pursed her lips in anger. The Wildness Society staffers in the audience groaned. The three men in UCLA hoodies booed and hissed. Grace held up her hands. “Please,” she said. “Let our panelists speak.”

Paula Karmin was intensely angry. “Really, Grace?” she asked. “You need to stop this!”

A young man stood up and yelled, “Reject the authoritarians! They want you to build more, buy more and control you!”

Angry shouts rose from the back of the room. Heads turned. The three men in UCLA hoodies stood, gathering support from their neighbors.

“Quiet, please!” said Grace. “I think we can all agree that we all need to protect the environment.”

Jackson turned to her, anger in his eyes. “Ms Newman,” he said, “you sit in a cubicle in a mega-city while the truth is hidden deep in the forest. ‘We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the Secret sits in the middle and knows.'”

How dare you quote Robert Frost at me! she thought, realizing no one in the audience heard him.

Someone yelled, “Lying logger! You’re raping the forest for a buck!” Jackson gave a small smile as a man in a black T-shirt with the Eco Liberation Front logo of a green fist stood and yelled, “Fuckin’ tree murderer!” A dozen students rose, booing. A row of girls stomped their feet, loudly conveying their rage.  

Jackson deflected a water bottle aimed at his barrel chest and it slammed against the wall behind him. Another hit a water pitcher on the table and its glass shards and water flew. Paula Karmin screamed; people in the audience covered their faces.

“Please!” yelled Grace. “Everyone calm down!”

“In the forest you’ll find the truth,” said Jackson quietly as he stood. “Not here. Never here.” Grace barely heard him. He walked offstage and headed for the neon EXIT sign. Grace watched his head and broad shoulders, encircled by students, disappear through a side door. The sound of protesters floated in.

Dr. Willet sat in stunned silence. Paula Karmin and Dr. Stratton were visibly irate. Dr. Boisvert rose and took the podium. “People, please!” he pleaded loudly. “Quiet down!”

Many in the audience were shaking their heads, collecting their things, leaving. “Well,” said an exasperated Dr. Boisvert, “that was a very spirited discussion! For more on forestry issues, please visit our website. Thank you for coming!” He turned off the microphone, walked to the other panelists, apologizing. He gave Grace a withering look.

Shit, she thought. He’s going to make me the fall guy! Grace watched the three men in UCLA hoodies exchange high fives as they exited. One of them stopped to chat up a pretty young woman.

Grace turned to the panelists. “Excuse me,” she said as she hurried from the stage, pushed through the crowd and out the door. The crowd milled about in the parking lot; some hurled insults at Jackson’s back as he strode uphill through a eucalyptus grove, followed by a few dozen people. Timber industry plants or curious students? Grace wondered.

The three men in the UCLA hoodies laughed, headed to the far end of the lot as one said, “Did you see? I got her number.”

“Cool,” replied his friend. “She’s hot, man, totally hot.”

The three went silent as they approached a man smoking a cigarette while leaning against the back of a black Suburban. The three men climbed into the vehicle as the man—tall, muscular, with fading red hair cut tight on the sides—crushed his cigarette on the blacktop under his boot. He took his place in the driver’s seat and fiddled with the GPS. A Mickey Mouse air freshener dangled from the rear-view mirror.

Out of habit, Grace pulled her notebook from her pocket and jotted down details on the men and the vehicle. They backed up and she wrote down the license plate as they exited the lot.

The mob spotted Grace, encircled her. She couldn’t break away for several minutes and by then Jackson was long gone.

Shit, she thought with a sigh. Empire versus the Northern forest people? Burning wood for heat? Suckled by friggin’ wolves? Grace rubbed her flushed face and ran her fingers through her hair.

Angrily, she turned back to Royce Hall. I should go in, she thought, but didn’t. Instead, she sat on a cool concrete platform under a massive silver dollar eucalyptus, one in a grove of many. She crushed a handful of leaves between her fingers, releasing their oils and aroma, held them up to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Grace leaned against the tree’s trunk and looked up. Its silvery leaves shimmered in the artificial beams shed by the lights in the parking lot. The tree’s branches, fondled by a gentle breeze, moved gracefully, offering a calming sound over the noise of a big city campus.

Grace sighed and thought about the man in his Northern forests, filled with cool air and evergreens. She thought about his hands, big and rough and scarred.

“Damn that man,” muttered Grace as she inhaled the cool evening air. It smelled of engine exhaust and eucalyptus.