Some time back in the dim days of peace, you decided to be a forester. Probably you don’t even remember the exact reason- few of us do. Maybe you saw sunrise on a snow capped mountain. Maybe it was moonlight on the desert, or the smell of wood smoke in the autumn or the taste of maple sugar in the spring that first put the love of the woods in your blood. Or was it the white anger that surged up when you saw the waste and destruction of the woodlands that made you seize forestry as a weapon to stop the crime? It doesn’t really matter; you became a forester-and were proud of it.