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loggers want are taken away, the clear-cut is set on fire to burn away the slash and crap stuff refuse left behind and other plant life so the area can be replanted. The replanting is to produce more trees, and herbicides and pesticides are sprayed regularly, just like on a farm. A lot of this replanting does not work — about half of it. (But I couldn’t find out why.)
    Nowadays the lumber business is a lot more efficient than it used to be. For example the rate of logging in B.C. has doubled since the 1960’s. A machine called a “theller bunger” (sp?) which cuts the trees at ground level and lifts them up can do the work of about 12 loggers. So it’s harder to get a job as a logger these days.
    About two thirds of Alberta’s forests are planned to be cut down, but I’m not sure about here in B.C.
    So as you can see, like I said on my test (which I failed) the forestry industry is important to our province.
MY BIBLIOGRAPHY
    I watched two videos, “The Nature of Things” with David Suzuki (my uncle says he’s a troublemaker and my mom thinks he’s a saint) and “The Forests and You” and made notes on them. They contradicted each other all over the place.
    I used our social studies textbook.
    Ellen gave me pamphlets she got from her dad called “Wise Use of the Land Base” (the pamphlet, not her dad) and “Maintaining Sustainable Development” which I didn’t understand too well.
    My mother corrected some grammar mistakes.
    Elias helped me with my spelling.
    My mother and my uncle Jimmy gave me a little bit of information and a whole lot of opinions which contradicted each other and which I didn’t use.

SIX
    R ain.
    Rain hissing on the rocks of Osprey Cove and soaking the ground under the drenched trees beside the house. Rain drumming on the roof of the bus on the way to school. Rain running down the window panes of the classrooms. Rain beating umbrellas, pelting raincoats, saturating jackets and sweaters, chilling flesh and bone. Rain on the roof at night. In the morning, more rain.
    It poured all the next week. People became grumpy, waiting for a crack of brightness to appear in the cement sky. Cats and dogs kept out of the way of impatient feet. Store clerks snapped at customers. At Bryan’s house, Uncle Jimmy thumped around the house, complaining about everything, frustrated at being unemployed and unable to occupy himself outside. Only Iris held an even temper when the downpour closed off the town from the sun and the world — another proof, thought Bryan testily, that she was not a normal human being.
    Within the drenched and dreary walls of his school, Bryan developed a grudging admiration for Mrs Richmond. Friday, in Social Studies, W-cubed took tedium to a new and unexplored level; she dragged boredom into another dimension. As she droned on, he secretly got out his thesaurus and made a list of all the synonyms for the word boring. Ellen was engrossed in a novel she was holding behind her textbook, a rare act of rebellion on her part. Elias pretended to take notes but, Bryan knew, he was composing songs and doodling.
    The rain hissed and hummed; the clock’s hands crept around its face.
    Freed at last by the bell, Bryan dashed for the bus with Ellen and Elias, dodging around puddles pocked by the downpour.
    “Hey, got an idea,” Elias announced when they had found seats. Bryan and Ellen sat together, with Elias across the aisle.
    “Congratulations,” said Bryan.
    “Mom’s going to Port Albert tomorrow to do a poetry reading at the public library, and me and her have to visit my gram in the old folks’ home. Why don’t you two come with us? We can all hang around downtown for the morning while Mom is putting her audience to sleep, and you guys can do whatever until Mom and me are ready to go home.”
    “Sounds great,” Ellen said. “Bryan and I can catch a movie.”
    “I don’t know. I should probably help Walter tomorrow.He has a whale watch.”
    “Come on, Bryan,” Ellen