I suppose the practice is as old as time itself, and most anyone who has ever walked with the weight of a slender folding knife within the front pocket of their blue jeans is guilty of having done it.

Undoubtedly, the little bone-handled Case knife that I carry has scarred the bark of more than one ancient tree during its tenure.

If the proper &#8220canvas” is not tastefully selected, carving the bark of a tree could be considered graffiti, but the scribing I often come across while exploring the forests are mysterious legacies; a small piece of a puzzle concerning unknown events and people who have at some point been in the same place and felt the need to record their presence.

Of recent, I gained yet another candle atop the cake and for a number of years the finest gift of all has been the one given by myself – a free morning to be spent roaming the family farm.

Coincidentally, this time of year is prime time for hunting shed deer antlers so I am usually bound to have a grand birthday confiscating the local gray squirrels’ ready-made chew toys and aimlessly wandering hill and dale on some of the season’s first warm days.

Sometime along the way, carving my initials and the year into a random tree created a tradition that for five years I have kept alive.

For whatever reason, the other day I had almost forgotten my own ritual until I walked past a squatty beech tree anchored into the bare, rocky soil of the steep ridge I had was busily navigating.

Momentarily glancing up from my feverish ground search for lost whitetail headgear, I looked up to spot &#8220GTH 03” carved into the smooth, silver bark of the ancient tree.

For an instant I was stunned – it felt as if I were looking into a sort of mirror that had spanned the length of four years. I felt it necessary to take a moment to reflect on everything that had changed from the March morning I had stood in the exact spot carefully notching out my initials with cold fingers grasping a favorite pocketknife four years earlier.

The entire experience was somewhat humbling. My favorite carvings to stumble onto also happen to be the most common. Find any semi-obvious bend in the river suitable for a picnic lunch, secluded cave entrance, or scenic point overlooking the countryside and there is bound to be a tree nearby with two sets of initials encased within the bounds of a heart.

On occasion you may be able to figure out the parties involved, but the ambiguity of initials alone generally disguises the lovers’ true identities. The only certainty is that someone took a lot of time, suffered some hand cramps, and most likely ruined a good edge impressing his date.

One specific scribing on the side of a tulip poplar that I can clearly recollect from a hike in LaRue County a long time ago read: &#8220J.R.” and a few inches below the description &#82209 pt.” were etched.

This has always stuck out in my mind because, much like Daniel Boone’s renowned (and disputed) tree carving following his battle with a bear, J.R. left a memento of his successful hunt in the woods where the episode took place.

In fact, a canny observer might also conclude that the immediate vicinity around such a declaration may be a good place to set up once the autumn leaves begin to turn and the bucks’ necks swell.

On lands that have not changed hands in several generations, wide-girthed hardwoods often bear a number of engravings signifying them as important landmarks or property corners. In many instances these boundary trees scarred by the axes and knives of a number of different generations are much larger than any nearby trees because they have been spared the chainsaw, and if inspected closely, sometimes a large limestone marker placed at the tree’s base long ago can be detected among the enormous tree’s snarl of roots.

For the surveyor these old landmarks are probably not very appealing, but whenever I run across a description using natural landmarks I take pleasure in sitting down to study how land was recorded before the days of strict measurement.

We all must carve out our own individual niche during our time in this expansive world.

Someday I hope to be satisfied with leaving both my actual and figurative marks on the woodlands which I have spent a lifetime utilizing, exploring, and attempting to ascertain just a smidgeon of the knowledge they have had to offer.

In the meantime, I am simply trying to make sure that I do not run out of birthdays before I do beech trees.

– Geordon T. Howell is the outdoors writer for the Daily News. Contact him at highbrasshowell@yahoo.com.