Timberland

This weekend, we have several trees felled on our property. We're in the process of "thinning" out some alders, fir and whatever else seems to choke the sun from our house. We're trying to be selective, I think. My partner is the one who really wants them gone--I like them, but then I'm not the one with the eye for landscape aesthetics. It is nice to see some clarity, but shocking all the same.

As the "tree guy" cut up the logs and stacked them into piles of eight foot sections, my mind went back to an old picture that had been my grandfather's. It was a postcard from Bennett, Wisconsin, of the old family homestead some time around 1920 (or before). All around were stacks and stacks of logs, waiting to be hauled to the sawmill and cut into lumber. That was it, nothing deeper than that. No comtemplation or reflection, just a quick flash memory of that picture. Oh, and I had a beer, too, so maby that remided me of my grandfather, too. Maybe not.

It's raining (again), though I believe it's just an interruption in some wonderful, pre-spring sunny weather we've been having lately. We're due for some more sun tomorrow. Yee ha!