Coppice Agroforestry: An Evening with Dave Jacke & Crosshatch
For about a year, up until February of 2019, my wife and I lived at Rosewood, a faith-based intentional community just north of Seattle.
The home served the dual purpose of hosting a creative expression of a house church, as well as being a home for anywhere between ten and fifteen individuals seeking to live together, offer hospitality, and practice living well. It was a spacious old brick house that had been a hunting lodge back when the Edmonds neighborhood was a forest. There was a garden out back, a handful of bikes beneath the back stairs, several chore wheels and closets that had accumulated years of trappings from residents long gone. Much of the house’s draw arose from the welcome and warmth of the large fireplace and meals shared nearby. Decisions were made by consensus weekly in that living room, and the church, which met there as well, attracted folks largely due to its embrace of the arts. Most of what was shared regularly, whether song, food, or prayer, was created by those who attended. The church, and the residents of the home, sought to put into practice the things that they thought were good — the things they wanted to see. One of the collections of music resulting from this model became an album entitled Hope for a Tree Cut Down — a reference from the biblical book of Job. That title, though, does a good job of showing what coppicing should look like.
We had our own visions of coppicing, a form of pruning focused on the growth of small-diameter wood. We had recently purchased a parcel of forest in Kalkaska after scrounging for years, and the idea was that, eventually, the piece of land would be the ground through which we could live out some of our own hopes and ideals. We traveled there in 2019, simply to be there and spend time observing the land. It was a brief visit. We also had heard there was going to be a Crosshatch-facilitated talk on Coppice Agroforestry, and the intersection of the timing of our stay and the event wasn’t accidental. My brother came out too, flying in from Los Angeles, filling the void created by dwindling tourists and mosquitoes. We all made it to the presentation.
On that brisk September evening, participants gathered in a warm farmhouse on the Leelanau Peninsula, and made small talk amongst folding chairs and loveseats. I looked around and spotted Dave Jacke, the event’s presenter, who was seated, facing the crowd, and fiddling with a computer. I wondered if there would be any information relevant to people without access to woodlots. My brother’s birthday was three days after the event, and we had picked up a ticket for him — a gift of sorts. He didn’t have access to a woodlot.
Dave Jacke, along with Eric Toensmeier, wrote Edible Forest Gardens. I had seen a copy of the two-volume set once. Both are dense reads. Not dense as in inaccessible; they’re just large books, tightly packed with references. They aren’t paperbacks you sit down to read in the evenings and tick off in a few days. Broadly, the books are about forest ecology and gardening. They cover both designing and maintaining gardens that will thrive in existing woodlands, as well as designing and maintaining forest-like gardens in non-wooded areas. Forest-like, meaning they sustain themselves without heavy inputs or maintenance as they mimic the natural relationships and succession cycles found in forests. Dave is best known for his work on the books, as well as speaking, designing, and consulting on the subject.
The two-hour talk began. It started with the basics. Coppicing is a technique whereby trees and shrubs are cut down. They’re cut down to be managed for their regrowth. Different varieties of trees and shrubs have different growth characteristics. The particulars of coppicing, such as the duration of time before harvest or the height of the initial cut, vary depending on intended use of the wood and what type of tree is being coppiced. Jacke also makes the case that the discipline has been practiced in some form by almost all cultures historically, predates agriculture itself and is a necessary component of graceful and ethical energy descent in the face of large populations using large amounts of (mostly non-renewable) resources.
Wait, what? That went from “pruning technique” to “necessary component of humans living well in the post-industrial future” fast. That context, though, is important.
The visual above, included in Jacke’s presentation, is from the book, Permaculture: Principles and Pathways Beyond Sustainability. (Holmgren) It frames four potential pathways stemming from current growth trends in energy use, population and pollution, as well as from the problem of fossil fuels growing prohibitively more and more difficult and expensive to extract. The first pathway runs headlong into the fact that infinite growth is not possible within this planet’s finite resource base, as it depends upon continued growth and resource use made possible by technologies that don’t yet exist. The other three incorporate a necessary drawdown, but the velocity of change varies. The first displays a slight decline followed by a steady horizontal trajectory based upon reliance on green-technologies (a strategy many European countries are pursuing today), another shows a gentle path downwards involving regenerative practices, and the last features a steep and painful crash with a slow rebound over time. The latter, the one with the steep drop-off, is a projection based upon things continuing as they are now, without any significant shifts in resource usage or distribution.
In-depth analysis of these paths is beyond the scope of this writing — please bear with a quick reflection and keep a look out for a future essay on the topic. Is maintaining the status quo with green technology possible? Are the effects of climate change already affecting different populations more intensely? How much can different groups bear when it comes to rising costs of energy? Jacke’s take (as well as that of Crosshatch) is that working towards slow and creative descent is necessary. Industrial populations, especially in developed nations, have been able to grow rapidly due to subsidized fossil fuel energy. Meeting our needs with this hydrocarbon-based economy is less and less a reliable option. Even if there was no end of hydrocarbon availability in sight, the speed at which we are burning fossil fuels is destroying the natural patterns and ecosystems we depend upon. A shift to meeting needs with a carbohydrate-based economy is necessary. This looks like lots of people doing (sometimes difficult) slow and grounded work. It also speaks to the need for frugality, supportive communities, the development of localized, skilled practices and technology appropriate to scale, and focus on vocation over career.
This is where the woody sprouts re-emerge. Again, Jacke posits that coppicing has a longer history of use than agriculture, and that it’s a practice found in virtually every culture that has existed on this planet. Despite falling out of popularity due to the availability of fossil fuels, coppice stands still comprise about 15% of forests in Europe. A formidable store of knowledge and culture relating to coppicing efficiently and productively in those areas exists, but less is available relating to coppicing in North America. Settlers to North America often viewed the land mass as so sprawling, and replete with trees, that intensive management practices were unnecessary, unlike the fathomable limits of wood available on the isles of Great Britain. North America’s Native communities hold understandings rooted in regional coppicing practices, but, as Jacke points out, those who have the best handle on valuable coppicing knowledge in this area, such as which trees and shrubs work best for different applications, when and where initial cuts should be made and how often harvesting cycles should be, are reticent to share the information with Westerners. This is understandable. Why would you share invaluable knowledge with communities if their predecessors had actively decimated your own?
The value provided by coppicing for different cultures throughout time can’t be overstated. Coppicing extends the lives of trees by interrupting natural processes of decay, similar to what is sometimes found from lightning strikes or damage from windthrow. Trees respond to the upheaval by sprouting from vigorous, dormant buds. These resprouts grow faster, straighter, stronger and with less knots than typical branches, are packed with more nutritional content and can be harvested efficiently due to their centralized location close to the ground. When these cuts are made closer to the ground, the process is referred to as coppicing. When cuts are made higher up, such as a stand of trees managed to provide food for livestock where regrowth must be out of reach of animals browsing below, the process is known as pollarding.
Jacke places uses of coppiced wood on a spectrum based on the level of processing and handiwork required for usage, rather than its value relative to currency or necessity. On one end of the scale are products such as wood chips for mulch, firewood for heating and cooking, and nutrient dense fodder for feeding animals. Further along are mushroom logs, poles for fencing, hedgerows, garden structures and erosion control, charcoal, cordage, tool handles and basketry. Crafts, artwork and building materials for furniture and construction lie at the far end of the spectrum. This means that there are strong applications for homes, warmth, food and art — keys necessary to foster and sustain human life and culture.
We’re three years removed from the coppicing event. Life has taken more turns than we expected, and I can’t help but notice that our past visions looked nothing like today’s reality. For one, we’re not living in the woods anymore. Coppicing, though, still looks promising and, eventually, necessary. I’m always on the lookout for firewood, and the fencing around our garden is in awful need of some care. There’s an edible hedgerow on site that we’d like to tend and extend, raising small livestock here again is an intention and our home could use some simple pieces of rustic furniture. It’s difficult to know where to begin, but I don’t have to go it alone.
There are a handful of active coppicing and woodland management communities of learning online where members field questions, share their own experiences and events, and learn together (here, here, and here.) The Northern Michigan Small Farm Conference has hosted relevant discussions in the past and Crosshatch looks forward to further work with Jim Jones, an agroforestry and hedgelaying expert. Another trove of a resource, Coppice Agroforestry, was just released after more than a decade of work by Mark Krawczyk, with a heavy contribution from Dave Jacke.
These books, conversations and internet groups are helpful. None of them, however, can match workshops, hands-on collaboration, mentorships, and other forms of actual practice. The Crosshatch ethos (derived from Wendell Berry) affirms that “what we need is here.” My brother still doesn’t have access to woodlands, but Dave Jacke’s event offered him something valuable. Being in a room with others who are concerned with the practical aspects of working towards a better world is both heart-warming and thought-provoking, providing fodder for thought, conversation, focus and activity. The warmth Rosewood offered in the past, the future warmth of a stove fed with coppiced wood, and the warmth of shared endeavor in between all point to hope for a tree cut down.
