My home is set on a 30-acre plot surrounded on two sides by hundreds of acres of forest. The woods are dark and thick with mystery and cool shade. It’s a place where chickens go and disappear in silence. In the mornings I can sit at my breakfast table and watch the squirrels commute from the depths of the trees to their daily jobs of pillaging birdseed and chicken feed from my backyard. The buffer the woods create makes me feel safe from the outside world when the outside world seems to be falling into chaos. That is, until everything changed.
Several weeks ago, I could hear them at a distance. Then one morning the grinding sound was closer, and I could see the trees shaking. The Langoliers were invading. Actually, these invaders weren’t aliens from another dimension, but professional tree harvesters clear cutting my precious forest. Well, not my forest in title, but I had claimed it in spirit. The mystery was disappearing with every felled tree. I have too much of my daddy in me to take it lightly. He never wanted a single tree cut or even azalea bush trimmed. Let it go and grow was his unspoken motto. The next day I left town for a week and when I returned the deed was done.
Now, instead of dark woods with mystery and cool shade there is barren land covered with toppled trees too small to market. Now, when I open my eyes in the morning I don’t see a thick green canopy, I see light and sky. The sight of it made me sad and angry. Does no one care about preserving nature? Does no one care about the displaced wildlife? What about my feelings, don't they matter? I wanted to find the owner and give him a piece of my mind. But what good would it do me? It’s not my land. He didn’t steal anything from me except my peace of mind.
It’s been a little over two weeks now and I am adjusting to the change. I’m not thrilled with it, but I am adjusting. With the trees gone I can see the forest. There’s an impressive hill I didn’t know was there, and for the first time in 14 years I can see the sun set atop it. There are still a few hardwood trees dotted here and there displaying their autumn glory to my enjoyment. If I were a landscape architect I would say the land has good bones. And next spring, all those nuts that squirrels have buried over the years will germinate and new trees will grow. They will be stronger because they have space and unobstructed sunlight to feed them. It will only a take a few years for the land to be lush again.
My point is change is hard, especially when we feel it is out of our control. The key to accepting change is to make the change be for the good. Change clears the clutter, or the forest in my case, and allows us to see more clearly. Upon the barren land we can watch the colors of the sunset and the light will reveal what once was in darkness. The bones remain for solid structure and new growth makes us stronger. My forest will never be the same as it was, but it will grow again. Unless a subdivision goes up, and then I’m screwed.
