The big bad wolf is back again

My house is made of sticks, my furniture: maple, my deck: redwood, books: reams of shredded wood, the bench where I watch my children play teak-- I am a consumer of wood. I use it, sit on it and love it. The loggers-- they are just doing their jobs.
So why is it that when I see the hillsides all chewed up near my summer home, I feel as though my house of sticks has just blown down?


* I am back from vacation and will write more later. I just wanted you all to know I’m back. Now, the forest near my cabin has been logged to high heaven, but at least the tiger lilies were still in bloom.