When my grandma died in 1999, something had to be done. She was widowed in 1971 and was left to care for the farm and my uncle. He had a developmental disability and had lived at home all his life. Grandma was a strong woman and did what she had to do to take care of things. Toward the end of her life, an aunt (a widow herself) came to live with them and then stayed on to care for her beloved brother.

The farm was left to another uncle to see that the family was taken care of. To do that, he had to have part of the farm logged. They never told me about it, and when I came for my annual visit and went for my usual hike back on the hill, I stepped into the clearing and…the trees were GONE! It was a punch in the gut, and I dropped to my knees and cried.

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First, no one owed me an explanation. I was just one of the grandchildren. Second, I understood that forests need to be maintained to remain healthy. But this was “clear-cut”…the hallowed grounds of my youth had been laid bare. I know it had to be done…I just wasn’t prepared for the shock of seeing it like that.

Fast forward to today. I remarried in 2018 and now live with my husband on the five-acre homestead he has owned since 1979. I’ve spent most of my adult life praying to live on a piece of ground such as this in my home state of West Virginia. I’ve always wanted to be a farm girl. Our land is flat and surrounded by wooded hills and creeks. I’ve come to know each tree. The black walnut trees that sporadically grace us with an abundance of nuts. The pear trees are even more sporadic in their production of juicy fruit. Tall sycamore trees whose leaves are as big as a dinner plate and whose naked white limbs reach out like ghosts in the winter woods.

It’s an idyllic little paradise here. I’ve come to take our views for granted, I’m afraid. Then one morning last week, I awoke to the sound of a chainsaw. Not unusual to hear people cutting up firewood or trimming fallen branches. But this was different. There is an intensity in the sound of a chainsaw that is felling a tree. It’s going after it in a way that means business. Then…the unmistakable cracking of the last bit of wood that’s held the tree up for decades. It crashed to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

My heart hurts.

One after another, after another. The trees came down. Then the heavy equipment came in to haul the trees-turned-logs away. They came back the next day and the next. It’s been five days now, and it’s clear now. They are logging the hill that has been our beautiful view at the end of the far field. I feel the sting of tears just writing these words. The beloved trees that bring us the promise of new life every spring, when we begin to see the first touch of green. The beautiful trees that offer their glorious golds and yellows as the backdrop to mark the end of another season.

It’s like a train wreck…you don’t want to watch, but you can’t take your eyes away. One must have the proper attitude about trees on another person’s property. They are a cash crop to that person….a savings account, as it were. We move with the rhythms of nature here in the country. Animals are slaughtered for food. The ground is plowed for gardens. It’s a shock to the system when something you took for granted gets yanked out from under you.

We’ll adjust. What choice do we have? And eventually…the bare hillside will become verdant with new growth, and the circle of life begins yet again. In the meantime…

My heart hurts.

💔

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 ESV

***Gratitude Journal***  Today, I am grateful that I can learn to adapt to change while still honoring the pain it causes me.