The Loneliest Tree

A pine tree planted in a burn

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They tantalize me. The tease me. They tempt me with nothing more than their availability. They touch a nerve in me. They call to me and I almost always answer. 

They are those out of the way microsites that I can't help but plant. That bit of soil between rips? That grassy area at the treeline that will fit three more? Those two lonely microsites amidst the wood-chips near the slash pile? I plant them all. I am a completionist in many respects. I can't help but plant a spot if a tree can go there. In the grand scheme of things, it's quite unnecessary that I plant these spots. The cumulative effect that they have on the density of my piece is negligible. A tree checker won't fault me for not fighting into every nook along the treeline. If all of the obvious spots are planted, everybody is happy.

So why do I do it? Were I to save the seconds that I waste throughout the day planting these out of the way microsites they would surely turn in to minutes. Time is money. So why do I do it? Am I being altruistic? Am I some sort of idealistic guardian of the cut-block who is compelled to leave behind the fullest forest possible? Most definitely not. In this instance, I think I let the little things get in the way of the bigger picture. It's an easy thing to do when your day is broken down into seedling sized units. The next time I spot a lonely microsite off to one side, I will think big. When it comes right down to it, that's all that really matters.