I just read Sandy Long’s column, titled “A time for trees," and enjoyed it immensely. Having spent many days of my 81 years in the woods, I, too, have a great love for trees. 

I have had a lifelong love-hate relationship with beech trees: I have loved the mature trees that provide delicious nuts (when I can get some from the squirrels and chipmunks (bears, turkeys and deer, too) that gather their share before I can get to them. 

When I was a kid,I had a special big old beech alongside the Beaverkill that I climbed to sit upon one of its large branches and ponder the meaning of life—as much as a kid could. 

My favorite fishing hole on the East Branch of the Delaware was Beech Tree Eddy, so named for the seemingly ancient beech trees along its shore. (See “The Gift of the Beech Tree” in my book “Rambling Outdoors.”) 

As a hunter, I regularly curse the young beech trees that block my view or give me false hope of a deer approaching with their seemingly ever-present rustling leaves. 

For the past 40-plus years, I have done most of my hunting in a New York Wildlife Management Area. I, along with my kids and grandkids, have become attached to a number of trees there over the years. They serve as landmarks as we hike the area while hunting and provide a backrest or a large branch to perch upon while waiting for deer to show up. 

This past deer season, as my 12-year-old grandson and I moved through the woods in semi-darkness searching for our planned deer stand, he whispered, “There’s our tree, Grandpa!” Imagine that: Out of a bazillion trees, we have some that are “ours”! Sitting with our backs up against one of our trees, or climbing one to perch upon while waiting for deer, does indeed bring a peace of sorts.

My thanks to Sandy Long. 

Lloyd Barnhart
West Sand Lake, NY