Beneath the surface, we're all lumberjacks

Whatever happened to flannel shirts, flapjacks, and big blue oxen? Remember when it was manly to be a lumber jack?

I don’t mean to boast, but I earned my Totin’ Chip from the Boy Scouts at a very young age, much younger than most.

I’ve split a few logs in my days. Okay, they were branches. But they were big branches and they quaked in the shadow of my mighty axe.

Yeah…yeah…you got me… it wasn’t an axe it was a hatchet. But I swung that little hatchet with such force that when it landed on its target – or somewhere in the near vicinity, give or take 14 inches – the ground shook and the leaves shivered.

Alright, I’ll level with you. I’m no Paul Bunyan. If a branch or stick was sturdy enough to take a few whacks against a tree, I threw it to the side and searched for something wimpier. I didn’t reach for the axe or the hatchet. But even all that was many times manlier than downing trees by controlling a submersible with a tini joystick.

It may be kinda nerdy, but it’s kinda cool too. Read this article, Reservoir Logs, in the most recent Wired. It's about a fella who’s harvesting underwater forests.

Go environment! Go nerds!