Etchings From The "Timber Collection" By Eric Buechel

The Timber Series

A Visual Journal: The Timber Collection

The series consists of aquatint engravings I created in 2021 and 2022 while meticulously documenting the back 145 acres of a 235 acre property that I have come to cherish. I purchased this expansive piece of land in 2002 while still residing in New Jersey, harboring dreams of retiring there and developing the land into a personal sanctuary. Nestled 12 miles from Crossville in the quaint town of Pleasant Hill, I initially believed it would be the perfect retreat for my later years. However, the reality of my thriving tech business in New Jersey meant that retirement was still a distant dream, and my aspirations for a leisurely life had to be postponed indefinitely. Then, soon after the purchase in early 2003, a pivotal shift occurred in my life.

After successfully completing a contract to clean up electronics for several banks in Manhattan in the aftermath of the 9/11 tragedy, I made the bold decision to sell my company and relocate to Tennessee. This marked the beginning of an unforeseen new chapter in my life, one that would dramatically alter my lifestyle and priorities. The transition from being a bustling city dweller to a "want-ta-be" country boy was substantial, requiring an adjustment to a slower pace of life and the embrace of a more nature-centric existence. Yet, after a few years of acclimatization, I found my place here amidst 235 acres of land on this beautiful spinning blue ball we call Earth. Before I purchased the land, it had just been logged, though I insisted that any tree with a circumference of less than 18 inches not be cut, hoping to maintain some semblance of the original landscape.

As the loggers finished their work, the undergrowth resembled a wild, untamed jungle. The forest, once adorned with a lush canopy that elegantly filtered sunlight to the ground, was now a chaotic landscape filled with weeds, small shrubs, tree tops, and scattered branches, making it nearly impossible to traverse. This was not the serene environment I had envisioned. Walking through the forest became a challenge, with the logging paths serving as the only viable means of accessing any part of the property. Yet, amidst this chaotic transformation, I reminded myself of the importance of natural resources in our country and the universal beauty that wood embodies. Additionally, I found solace in the fact that wood is biodegradable, unlike plastic, making it a far superior choice both aesthetically and environmentally for the planet we inhabit.

Thus, the property became a central focus of my time and energy. I dedicated myself to developing a mile-long road that would run through the center of the property, building nearly 12 miles of paths that were lined with hundreds of Japanese cherry trees, and creating fields specifically designed to attract diverse wildlife. Over the course of a decade, the once unruly undergrowth began to vanish, and the remaining trees started to form a lush canopy above the forest floor. Each passing year, the grounds began to resemble my initial vision, especially in the vibrant spring when the cherry trees burst into bloom, painting the landscape with delicate white and pink blossoms. It was during this time that I also noticed the dogwood trees flowering throughout the property, adding to the seasonal beauty. Taking long walks along the paths turned into a cherished routine, while gardening and beekeeping became enjoyable hobbies for Kathy and me. Although I haven't mentioned it until now, painting the landscapes was just as significant to me during this period as all my other activities combined. Everything seemed to be falling into place, and life was very good.

However, by mid-2020, a significant decision loomed on the horizon, one that felt, in many respects, as though it had been made for us rather than by us. The back portion of our land, which had been a cherished part of our property and a sanctuary for various forms of wildlife, was scheduled to be timbered. The area, once thriving with lush trees and vibrant undergrowth, was now deemed ready for logging operations to commence. This decision, while seemingly straightforward on the surface, was steeped in layers of complexity that reflected not only the practical considerations of land management but also my personal experiences, values, and the broader environmental implications.

The choice to allow logging on our land was not taken lightly. It was a decision that weighed heavily on my conscience and involved a careful consideration of numerous factors. On one hand, there were economic incentives that could not be ignored; the immediate financial benefits from the timber sale promised to alleviate some of the burdens we faced, particularly in light of the economic uncertainties that had emerged during the pandemic. This financial influx could support necessary improvements to our property and provide for our family in ways that were increasingly critical during such turbulent times.

On the other hand, my commitment to sustainable land management practices played a pivotal role in this decision-making process. I have always believed in the importance of balancing economic needs with environmental stewardship. The logging operation was designed with sustainability in mind, incorporating practices that aimed to minimize ecological disruption and promote regeneration of the forest. This meant that careful planning was involved to ensure that the logging would not only be profitable but also respectful of the land's natural cycles.

Moreover, my past experiences with land management had instilled in me a deep respect for the interconnectedness of ecosystems. I recalled the lessons learned from previous encounters with land use decisions that prioritized short-term gains over long-term health of the environment. These experiences shaped my understanding that responsible stewardship is vital for preserving not just the land itself but the myriad of life forms that depend on it.

As I contemplated the impending timbering, I reflected on the duality of my role as both a steward of the land and a decision-maker in a complex socio-economic landscape. The timbering operation was not just a financial transaction; it was an opportunity to engage with the land in a way that could foster regeneration, enhance biodiversity, and ultimately contribute to the resilience of our ecosystem.

In conclusion, the decision to proceed with the logging operation was influenced by a confluence of economic necessity, a commitment to sustainable practices, and a deep-seated belief in responsible land stewardship. It was a choice that, while it felt as though it had been thrust upon us, also represented a chance to navigate the challenges of land management with a thoughtful and balanced approach. So in December 2020, the loggers arrived, heading toward the back of the property with a convoy of trucks and large logging equipment rumbling down our road, and that's when my second thoughts began to creep in.

Changing my mind at this stage was proving to be a difficult endeavor. The reality was that the logging would take place, and I had to move forward with the process, as I felt I didn’t have much choice in the matter. The first few days were particularly tough, especially as I listened to the loggers take down a massive oak tree in mere seconds with a machine known as a feller buncher. A feller buncher is a specialized type of harvester used in logging, a motorized vehicle equipped with an attachment that can rapidly gather and cut a tree before felling it to the ground. I had never witnessed anything like it before, and the efficiency with which it operated was both fascinating and disheartening, as I grappled with the implications of this necessary yet painful transformation of my beloved land.

I knew men with hatchets dressed like lumberjacks wouldn't be taking down trees. But a machine right out of Star Wars? I wasn't ready for that either. Yet, there it was, a tree down and de-branched in seconds, carried off to a landing area. A landing area, in logging, refers to a designated site within the forest where logs are gathered, sorted, and prepared for transport to a mill or log yard facility. This area is crucial for organizing logs after they have been cut down, as it serves as a central hub for the entire logging operation. It is meticulously planned to ensure efficiency and safety, allowing the loggers to manage the volume of timber and streamline the process of moving these heavy, often cumbersome logs to their next destination.

As troubling as this seemed at the moment, that night in bed, I realized it wasn't about the hours I spent developing my property. It was about the skills required to harvest wood and what I could do to document the process. How many people get to witness this event on their land and home? It was about moving on, witnessing, and recording the logging process and what it entails. I never intended to record the hardworking men doing this skilled work, but rather the machines and the land that would change during the clear-cutting process. In January, I would set out before sunrise, bundled up against the biting cold, to witness the men and their machines start the logging process. I'd rarely photograph the timber cutting itself because, as I mentioned, my interest lay more in the land being transformed, and most of the images I captured were of the machines at rest, powerful giants awaiting their next task.

I'd spend up to six hours at a time on some of the coldest days, my breath visible in the frigid air as I documented the scene. After a shoot, I'd return home and soak my feet in warm water to thaw out, the contrast of heat against the chill a welcome relief. Frozen logging trails highlighted the loggers' challenges in taking on the oaks to be felled, the ice making each step treacherous and every maneuver deliberate. Starting these massive diesel machines each morning was no easy feat; the thickening motor oil, a consequence of the bitter cold, made it difficult to turn the engines over, creating a symphony of groans and sputters in the early morning stillness. Experiencing the near-zero temperatures firsthand gave me insights that pictures alone couldn't provide; it deepened my understanding of the labor and perseverance required in such an unforgiving environment.

My journey into the lives few see was eye-opening and educational. It comforted me knowing that some of the oak logged would ultimately become barrels for whiskey, a connection to a product that many people enjoy without considering its origins. With that said, my mission for the next four months was to document the timbering process meticulously, capturing not just the act of logging but also the intricate relationship between the land and the machines. Following that, another six months were dedicated to the painstaking task of editing thousands of images in the series, selecting the most compelling shots that told the story I wanted to convey. Additionally, several more months were spent deciding which images would be engraved onto plates and printed on my etching press, a process that required precision and artistic vision.

Each image I created would bring me back to the day I captured it, the memories flooding back with each glance at the print. The vibrant colors, the play of light, and the intricate details of the landscape would transport me to a moment in time, allowing me to relive the emotions I felt while snapping the photograph. I could almost hear the rustling leaves and feel the gentle breeze on my skin as I stood there, camera in hand, waiting for the perfect shot. It was during these moments that I realized how deeply intertwined my experiences were with the art I produced. Each photograph was not merely a static image but a portal to my past, a visual diary chronicling my journey through the landscape I had come to love so dearly.

This process also helped me realize that all the time I spent creating this landscape wasn't wasted but was, in fact, a vital part of my journey and learning. The countless hours spent planning, planting, and nurturing the land were foundational to my growth, both as an artist and as an individual. I learned to appreciate the subtleties of nature, to understand the delicate balance of ecosystems, and to respect the time it takes for life to flourish. Every seed sown, every path carved, and every field cultivated contributed to a greater understanding of my place within this vast, interconnected web of life. Each challenge I faced along the way, whether it was battling invasive species or dealing with unpredictable weather, became an opportunity for growth and resilience.

Sometimes we have to let go of the things we love to renew ourselves and move on to another stage of development. This realization was not easy; it required introspection and courage. Sure, I could have continued, creating more paths and fields, endlessly expanding my property, but having 85 acres of forest is plenty for me. I came to understand that abundance is not merely about quantity but also about quality and connection. By stepping back and allowing the land to breathe, I opened myself up to new possibilities and perspectives. This decision was not an end but rather a transition, a shift that allowed me to appreciate what I already had rather than constantly striving for more.

And today, four years later, the land is reforesting itself, nature reclaiming its space, and witnessing the rebirth of a forest is a gift that fills me with hope and appreciation. The once barren patches are now teeming with life, as saplings push through the soil, reaching for the sunlight, and the sounds of birds returning to their natural habitat fill the air. I find solace in observing this transformation, as it serves as a powerful reminder of the cycles of life and the resilience of nature. It is a testament to the fact that even after disruption, life finds a way to flourish anew.

I feel privileged to have been a part of that transformation, to have sown the seeds of change and to witness the land's evolution firsthand. Each day brings new surprises, whether it’s the sight of a deer grazing peacefully or the vibrant colors of wildflowers blooming in unexpected places. This ongoing process of renewal not only enriches the landscape but also nourishes my soul, reinforcing my belief in the importance of stewardship and the profound connection we share with the earth. The forest, in its quiet strength, teaches me lessons about patience, resilience, and the beauty of letting go, reminding me that sometimes, the most meaningful journeys are those that allow nature to take the lead.

Eric Buechel Fine Art

P. O. Box 277

Pleasant Hill, Tennessee 38578

931-881-7806

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