Leave nothing but footprints. Take nothing but memories. Leave no trace.
There is a time and a season to tread softly. This is not one.
25 or so of my nearest and dearest relatives and friends gather from far and near for Grove Weekend. The object: to work our butts off, eat like pigs-- and remember to sign the guestbook before hustling home. The result: much-needed care of the ancient trees (and up-and-comers) in the grove and adjacent woods on the family farm.
We have chainsaws and tractors and axes and machetes. But cousin Phil has The Secret: The Skidder. A single pass uproots "bad" trees and multiflora rosebushes, leaves a clear swath wide enough to maintain with a tractor and bush hog, and leaves all onlookers with dropped jaws and overwhelming power toy envy.
Sunlight now pours in to what was til this moment a dark tangle of hostile vegetation, feeding the Dogwood and Redbud that ignite the woods in springtime. A joyful family--or 2 horses abreast-- can now ramble through what started as deer trails through brambles so thick I'd emerge bloodied from my romps.
The power to destroy. When wielded wisely, destruction is the launching point for new creation.
Beautiful post. Thanks. Oh so true. How nice that a family would gather for such an endeavor for the sake of the landscape. God bless all of you!
ReplyDeleteThank you Sandy! It is amazing. And He does. Oh, how He does!
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