By the Toledo Tribune.
An update tonight from the coastal hills of Oregon where the trees are tall, the moss is thick, and the questions are heavy.
On April 3rd, the United States Department of Agriculture declared a state of emergency across 113 million acres of national forest land—nearly sixty percent of the federal forest system. The order, issued by Secretary Brooke Rollins and guided by an executive directive from President Trump, opens the door to expanded logging under the banner of wildfire prevention and domestic timber revival.
Oregon, as ever, stands at the heart of the matter. The Coast Range, with its slopes of Douglas fir and hemlock, is no longer just scenery—it is now policy ground zero.
The emergency declaration is not without basis. Our forests are under strain. Insects, drought, and a warming climate have weakened vast tracts of woodland. Deadfall builds like kindling across the forest floor, while fire seasons grow longer, hotter, and more unpredictable. In places like Lincoln County, where the Siuslaw National Forest winds between mill towns and fishing ports, the fear of the next great wildfire is never far from mind.
Supporters of the USDA’s action see this as a prudent response—a way to reduce risk while breathing life into rural economies. For communities that once thrived on timber, a return to managed logging offers not just employment but identity. Roads can be built. Families can stay. Local mills, some operating on the brink, may find stability in a renewed supply chain.
But this is only one side of the ledger.
Opponents, many of them lifelong Oregonians as well, caution that accelerated logging could do more harm than good. Forests are not just trees—they are watersheds, habitats, and carbon sinks. Quick-cut solutions can lead to erosion, degraded ecosystems, and a weakening of the very resilience we seek to restore. Some scientists warn that thinning can help reduce surface fuels, but that large-scale commercial logging—especially of mature trees—may not significantly reduce crown fire risk and could in fact worsen it.
And so, we arrive at a familiar fork in the trail—one path paved with urgency, the other with caution.
But perhaps this time, we need not choose one over the other. If there is any lesson in the forest, it is that diversity builds strength. A balanced approach could blend selective thinning with conservation. It might prioritize treatment of fire-prone zones near communities, while protecting old growth and sensitive habitats deeper in the wilderness. It could mean increased funding for prescribed burns, forest worker training, and ecological monitoring—not just timber sales.
Rural voices deserve to be heard—not dismissed as relics, nor pitted against environmental stewards. Both share a stake in the forest’s future. And perhaps, with honest conversation and transparent policy, both can share in its stewardship.
The people of Lincoln County know the value of trees. They shade our homes, anchor our hillsides, and scent the air after rain. They’ve given us livelihoods, lumber, and legends. But now, more than ever, they ask something of us in return: wisdom.
This is the news. Good night and good luck.
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