An old journalist, surprised in the seventies behind piles of unopened letters in the ramparts in front of his desk, replied to the observations: “Readers are not made to write, they are made to read. “ He could not have worked at The cross, where readers give the feeling of reading with their pen raised, ready to comment, criticize, approve what we write. The result is controversies, testimonies or enriching meditations that are well worth our own rantings as a columnist, for example. This was the case with the last column entitled “What the trees are burning to say”. Allow us, before giving the floor, to claim that we do not feel “Khmer Green” if we experience a terrible shock every time we find beloved hills shaved as fresh as trees. plucked chickens or show dogs.
Yvette M. approves the column and notes:
“Without trees the countryside would be sad; the roads without shade, without play of light in the branches; in autumn the golden leaves would not crunch under our feet, in spring no pleasure in seeing the rebate hatch. So many gaps in our visual field. A flat, empty nature, without interest to the eye. “
From Marc G., a reproach and a nice quote:
“You say your”soul is bleeding ” each time a tree is cut: you therefore place yourself under the compassionate and emotional angle that I respect, but which cannot be enough for me. Also I offer you some lines taken from Life and Destiny by Vassili Grossman, fantastic active meditation on our nature, that of men since we are also nature, that of nature in the classical sense.
“Long ago, when I lived in the forests of the North, I imagined that the good was not in man, that it was not in the world of animals and insects, but that he was in the silent realm of trees. But no ! I have seen the life of the forest, the cruel struggle that the trees wage against the grasses and the thickets for the conquest of the land. Billions of seeds, as they grow, suffocate the grass, make cuts in the solidary copses; billions of self-seeded shoots fight against each other. And only those which emerge victorious from the competition form a foliage where the essences of light dominate. And only these trees form a forest, an alliance between equals. The firs and beeches vegetate in a twilight penal colony, in the shade of the green dome formed by the essences of light. But, for them, comes the time of senescence and it is the turn of the pines to rise towards the light by killing the birches. Thus lives the forest in a perpetual struggle of all against all. Only the blind can believe that the forest is the realm of good. “
Dominique R. sends a reply entitled “Long live the chainsaws!” “ :
“Your ignoramus and hurtful verse on”chainsaw massacres ” leaves speechless.
If we can, indeed, consider that clear cuts are not the best way to exploit a forest, there has long been another mode of exploitation, widely more widespread, and much more intelligent and ecological, to treat trees: it is the garden forest, advocated by all responsible foresters.
An unexploited forest no longer grows and its deep shade prevents any natural regeneration. It is a dying forest that no longer captures CO2.
A garden forest uses only the largest trees, thus giving more space for development and access to light to younger trees and natural regeneration. The branches of felled trees are left in place to decompose and release their nutrients which will help the development of younger trees. The managed forest grows quickly and efficiently captures CO2.
I find it absurd that, pushed by a misplaced sentimentality, Bruno Frappat thus scorns the relentless work of French foresters for a more welcoming and healthier forest. “
Yves M., naturalist, is in tune with the chronicle:
“The sight of a felled tree saddens me and revolts me like a reclining presence that moans, especially if it bleeds from its wounds, to have been torn into tendrils and tortured, torn from the bowels of the earth by efficient brutes always more refined in lightning technology. I thought I was alone in despairing! Did you know that vegetation grows less well in a forest deprived of birdsong? Read Christian Bobin, he also talks about violence against trees. “
Totally opposed opinion expressed by Daniel D., “Forest owner” in Calvados:
“For a journalist worthy of the name to pour into ‘forest-bashing’ to such an extent without verifying the reality of his assertions, that is to say the influence of the media manipulated (such as France 5) by eco-warrior minorities whose utopia consists in wanting to put the forest under a bell. Yes, the forest is made up of living organisms which, like us, are subjected to climate change, but that is not a reason for wanting to make it a sanctuary because the most beautiful of sanctuaries can also burn, such as Notre-Dame that we thought unchanging in his stony majesty.
Let’s stop making the French believe that we are threatened with “deforestation” in mainland France. French forests are increasing in area, volume and quality. So do not rank among those who treat foresters as massacres, or even murderers, while we devote our lives, our resources, to the forest to ensure their good condition for generations to come. “
Emmanuel K., finally, asks that we not ” chopped off “ not his text if we publish it. Here it is in its entirety:
“In his column, Bruno Frappat spared us nothing in his vocabulary:”chainsaw massacres ”, “Gigantic gaps”, “Bloodletting nature”, “Die completely”, “Carnage”, “extermination”, “Wickedness of man”. And he reached the top, the top, with the “Wooden corpses euthanized without their consent”. The author’s anthropomorphism seems to have no limits!
His temporal shortcuts are striking when he talks about the bicentennial cedar on Boulevard Raspail, in Paris, which had to be cut down in August 2020: “The tree fell on a sad day this spring.” Certainly, on the scale of eternity, it was there “a few weeks”(sic). Shouldn’t Bruno Frappat leave his home to realize what the reality of forestry is, its usefulness, its objectives, its methods? Does he know that the French forest continues to grow?
In this spring, the real one, not that of August, I imagine Bruno Frappat in front of a succulent dish of asparagus. Would he say that they were savagely euthanized, in the prime of their life and then horribly scalded to end up on his plate and get wickedly devoured? “
No, he wouldn’t say it. He would feast without a bad conscience.
In the shelter of his favorite and well cared for lime tree.