Poet’s Corner: Ode to a Stump Farm 4

19 September 2026

(5 February 2016) We continue this week with more from the title poem of our collection, Ode to a Stump Farm. Now, here is the story of how it came to be called a ‘stump farm’:

Blackened stumps,
fading to
fire-scorched timber–
distant past–
“What are you growing?”
grandpa asked his new father-in-law,
looking over field of absent trees.
“Stumps,” Henry Rice replied.
Grandpa smiled, mischief
sparkling in his eyes,
“A stump farm.”

One of the first things I noted, on the far side from where we entered, were the number of huge, old stumps, most of them blackened by fire in the attempt to clear that area. So the story goes, and it may be “apochryphal,” since we are all compulsive story-tellers, that my Grandpa Pap gave it the name. Each of these huge stumps, most of them from larch, or tamarack, trees, were 8-10 feet tall, which is unusual, since the logger usually cuts them closer to the ground. However, there is more to this story. During the early 1920s, in a particularly hard winter, the February ‘chinook’–warm west winds that come every year–melted the ice and snow suddenly, causing flooding down the rivers and washing out what was called the “Long Bridge” in Sandpoint, ID. A call went out for large tamarack trees, to rebuild the bridge, and my great-grandfather was one of many who responded. There was still 8-10 feet of snow on the ground, which is why the stumps were so tall, and the only way they could get them out of the woods was using teams of horses, some of these trees so long and large that they had to be pulled out one at a time! There are more stories surrounding these huge stumps, but we will save those for later, since another of these figures later in this poem. Purchase this collection from the link provided. Until next time, good reading!