Back to our theme of antipastoralism. Just to remind you this is not an anti-environmental mindset. Quite the opposite. The antipastoralist wants to keep the shepherd out of the picture, let nature take its wild course. The “shepherd” brings in the flock, cuts down the forest for grazing, builds walls, fence lines and railroads. The community encourages the shepherd. He clothes and feeds THE PEOPLE, he heats their homes with those trees; as banks and storefronts spring up in the barren meadows. As time passes, smoke stacks and church steeples emerge in the gloomy distance. A wide brush stirs the oily sky into beautiful compliance. Chaos is evicted. A pastoral propaganda is developed that justifies the violent manicure. This is called progress. Something happened recently, down by the river, that will not go unnoticed. The pastoralist was in full effect. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
I live in a magical little river valley. The Neversink River has snaked through these Catskill forests and fields for thousands of years. When the rivers were dammed up in the 1930’s the reservoirs delivering potable water to NYC were also engineered to control excessive flow. Cyclic seasonal flooding subsided. The downstream rivers were tamed, but not damaged. The ancient Neversink remained one of the world’s premier trout streams. It is sacred and in some areas pristine.
I travel across Denniston Ford and the Neversink River almost daily. Until a few years ago a one lane bridge spanned the ford. This bucolic spot had been a backwoods travel corridor between the Hudson Valley and Catskills for hundreds of years. It is a natural flat of low water that served as a wagon crossing before the bridges were built. With the building of highways, the ford is now well off the beaten path.
I hunt the old Denniston farm that’s been split up and now is owned by my friends and neighbors Butch Resnick, John Letourneau and The Denniston Hill Foundation. Old pastures of rich river bottom are bordered by thick pine ridges, majestic maple hedgerows and shady river banks. I’ve already mentioned my displeasure with Butch and John’s fence lines, but these flimsy structures can always be removed or reconfigured. They are not a permanent scar on the landscape. Fences come and go. What I witnessed over the weekend, down by the river, was much worse than another fence going up and will forever put a knot in my stomach.
Across the ford, traveling west, there used to be a funky little pink house perched on a hill overlooking overgrown fields. I always loved the look of the place, tucked in the wild sumach and scrub brush. A hoarder lived there with his cats. The house was an old stage coach stop that dated back to the 1840’s. One day I noticed activity. Somebody had purchased the pink house and was fixing it up. That somebody was Dave Markovitz. He was a Porsche driving, friendly young guy with a wife, son and plenty of money. I nicknamed him “Diamond Dave.” We became friends. He came to church and seemed down with the CLGM community. He was generous to a fault and a helluva lot of fun. Then one day, like a cat, he changed personalities. Nobody ever saw him around anymore. I thought this would be a temporary phase and he would return to the fold. He didn’t. I never knew why—still don’t. Did we remain friends? I guess so. I haven’t talked to him in years. I may have a better answer to that after he reads this.
If I’m going to be honest in writing about the Catskills I’ll have to call out certain people (friend or foe) when I see things happening that I feel are detrimental to the community and environment. What I witnessed at the ford was burly loggers wielding chainsaws and two massive excavators working in tandem, tearing down dozens of majestic 200 year old maples and oaks that had shaded the Neversink River’s western bank for generations—Diamond Dave’s trees.
Yesterday the stumps that bore witness to the slaughter were six feet across, obscenely protruding from the naked bank like rotten teeth. Today the stumps have also been extracted; the bloody gums of the river bank salved with straw. Why would anybody do this? What possible justification could Diamond Dave have for his arboreal crime? A better view of the river? His house sits high on a hill. He could already see the river. It makes no sense.
Before the new bridge came in, even with reservoir regulation, these fields were prone to flooding. With the removal of the trees flooding will most likely return. Erosion will tear up the cleared river bank, unnaturally widening the river. But the immediate damage is aesthetic and irreparable. It can never be corrected.
It’s private property. This is ‘merica! It’s Dave Markovitz’s ‘merican right to cut his trees down. What can any of us do but bitch after the fact? But that’s my ‘merican right also. Dave’s clear cut is a microcosm of what is being done globally to our environment—rich men doing as they please because they can. Are we all helpless? I can’t imagine any good argument for this obscenity. But if there is one I’ve reached out to Diamond Dave for a response. No matter the justification it won’t bring the trees back. Any remnant of those trees is gone forever. The loggers worked so fast you’d never know a tree ever grew there.
As I was taking pictures of the aftermath a logger came running over, phone in hand. “How’s it look?” he asked cheerily. “Looks like hell.” I answered. He was taken aback by my response. He obviously thought he’d done a pretty good job, pastorally speaking. “Those trees were there for hundreds of years.” I told him. He looked confused and a bit hurt. What business was it of mine? “You asked.” I said as he took a picture of my license plate (I don’t know why) and went away grumbling. Looks like a good spot for another Dollar General store. It’s a shanda Dave. Honestly, what the hell were you thinking?
Tomorrow: Diamond Dave’s response.
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