THE MILLENIUM GROVE TREESITTING BLOCKADE ACTION
June 23rd 1985 the Earth First!ers' arrival at the site, and the rising of the activists up their trees.
Transcribed from a handwritten logbook of the action kept by Ron Huber.
Sunday. June 23, 1985. Stayed overnight at the site after dragging all our junk around a tree covered knoll--exhausting work, but done more quickly than I thought possible-- eight folks humping the plywood platforms, water vessels, duffel bags guitar (yes, my guitar: I shall compose many a tune up there, as well as feast time and again on my thick Yes songbook) Also my library.
Then we were there, Binko, Fir Ron, Lon McIvy, Mitch, Valerie, Yukiko, Tim, Kim.
Kim took me and Binko as far as he entrusted his vehicle to go, then the sound of rock tapping his oil pan dissuaded him from going deeper. We set off by foot, then Tim's truck hoved into view.We climbed aboard, Yukiko in front, I standing on the back like a charioteer, and we got to a point 1/4 mile from or less from Unit # 9. Lon's VW already there, empty, so we hopped from the truck, joining Val, Wenatchee and Binko, and initiating a walk through the forested knoll stright south to camp.
Despite my misgivings about my abilities to locate the timber sale unit without getting lost, I succeeded; we ended up right at the end of the logging road so recently and rudely shoved into this virgin stand.
Another trip over to car and back to # 9, and we make a smokey fire to harass the mosquitoes Everyone feels good, but tired from the exertion and the long day and before long, after a canned chicken and stale bagel repast, we go to our seperate sleepingbags; I in the clearcut, the others in the forest. Deep sleep ensues, I awaken only when a wet mist sprinkles my face from early morning fog clouds.
The land here is heartbreakingly beautiful: delicate tracery of mosses over the fallen logs slowly reabsorbing into the Forest. Heartbreaking both because the tree stand a scant 1/8 mile away is dead, slaughtered a week ago by Willamette Industries raiders, who intend to wreak the same havoc here; and heartbreakingly beautiful to see and as yet only barely understand, the marvelous Gaia-ic organism we are proposing to enter a symbiosis with, defending the trees from the Willies and gaining...what? from the Tree People...Perchance the fateful dream last spring is true and I may now demand a boon from the Green Lady. Such a boon will be the key to interspecies landuage/communication, like Sigmund eating the dragon's heart and learning the tongues of the wild creatures....I shall ask, what folly to not try.....As Christophe Manes sez, man's nature is to reach out boldly, dying is nothing.
Nearing noon, midmorn anyway, and soon we practice going twenty feet in a tree, see if all have everything needed to set up camp in the heights. I've built a more or less workable stove for my sterno cans, so hot coffee will be possible up in the canopy...what a blessing!
Sunday June 23, 1985, late afternoon. Sunny clear day. Rather than hammer his way up his chosen tree, Mitch Friedman has Lon shoot an arrow (with line attached) over a limb that was about 80 feet up. Lon tips back, joint in mouth, aiming the bow at about a 75% angle like an image from Zen and the Art of Archery. Meanwhile, anguished calls coming from Mokai, whose arm was tiring and spirits flagging from the bolt pounding he'd chosen to ascend with. Lon finally puts an arrow with string over the appropriate bough; the string is tied to a thicker line, then to climbing rope. Carefully, string, cord, rope is pulled over the branch and back down....
Wenatchee and Val go off toward their trees. Me? Watered, packed, fed, ready to go up.
Valerie Wade takes to the air, spin-twisting a rachet that screws bolts into the treetrunk of a great hoary old Doug fir, out on the eastern edge of Unit 6! Yes, Force Ecotopia has determined the best defense to be offense and has expanded its control to the remaining stand in Unit Six.
Mitch Friedman races upward on his jumars precipitously while Lon's and Mckivy's backs are turned & gets in minor (so far) trouble. Now he hooks belly to bough, hangs suspended. Lon shouts, I start coming over, meet him partway, we and Wenatchee go racing over, but he's okay...soon my turn. the wind soars overhead, steady sussuration.
Hateful yellow stapled on stickers: 'Boundary: Clearcut. _____sale. Unit number ______...This sign faces the clearcut.'
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Ron Huber transcription from paper diary, and accounts from others who were there. Got info to add? Contact me at penbay(at)justice.com