Four summers ago, Put Blodgett and I met to discuss Northern Woodlands’ editorial goals. Put was not a close friend, but I admired him very much as a renaissance man and force of nature. Among his many other accomplishments and interests – for example, running a children’s camp and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro – he served as the long-term president of the Vermont Woodlands Association. Working closely with his colleague and fellow force of nature Kathleen Wanner, Put was a highly effective advocate for the causes of forest stewardship and landowner education. For me, he was a source of good advice.
On that summer day, we spoke about the history and future of both our organizations. I also remember Put describing his boyhood on a dairy farm, his deep affection for Dartmouth College, and his work on the college’s Mount Moosilauke trail system. After that meeting, I wrote a summary of our discussion that included this note about estate planning for forestland:
The succession issue is really concerning…. It’s not just how to get people aware of the need to do this work, but how to get them to take the next step and actually work through family politics to get a plan in place.
Put passed away in March 2020. Much has been written about his public legacy. Perhaps less well known is his success in planning for his own land’s future. True to the priorities he expressed at our meeting, Put and his wife Marion “took the next step,” securing conservation easements with the Upper Valley Land Trust for their properties in both Vermont and New Hampshire, and setting up a trust for the family’s beloved woodlot in Bradford, Vermont.
I have been thinking of Put, because several articles in this issue of the magazine touch on the question of legacy. What can we do now to ensure that our woodlands – and our rural communities, too – thrive beyond our lifetimes? In a region where most forestland is privately owned, the answer to this question greatly depends on individual choices, but it also has a public dimension. It requires compromise and continued adaptation to change.
Put was not an obvious candidate for compromise. Boo Blodgett affectionately described his father as someone with a “dominating personality” who didn’t shy away from arguments. “He could appreciate you holding to your perspective,” Boo told me, “and he was going to hold to his perspective, too.”
Yet hard-charging as he could be, Put had the wisdom to consider other family members’ preferences. Early in the planning process, he sought his children’s input and divvied up resources in a way that reflected their interests. As Boo was the one with the greatest interest in the Bradford land, Put brought him into management decisions.
“We went into the woods together,” remembered Boo. “We worked on planting, pruning, thinning, and harvesting trees. We worked on roads, talked to our forester, and went to meetings together.” This transition from son to successor was tough going at first, said Boo. But over time, Put allowed him to make more management decisions, even when Put would have preferred a different outcome. For example, “Dad allowed me to do a treatment on the camp area. He didn’t agree, but he allowed us to move forward.”
The result is one of Put and Marion’s lasting achievements: woodlands that will remain as woodlands, and that their family continues to cherish. Last year, in response to the pandemic, grandchildren and great-grandchildren stayed on the land for five months, enjoying the wonders that Put long enjoyed: wildlife, water, and views of Mount Moosilauke in the distance.
“It was a memorable summer,” said Boo. And a fitting legacy for a man who loved forests so deeply and devoted so much of his life to their stewardship.