May they grow to mighty oaks

For the past several weeks one of the first morning sounds have been that of heavy equipment moving into place on the mountains to our southeast. Later, as the sun rises, it’s chainsaws. And the crashing of mighty oaks.

Someone is clearing out an entire forest from the sounds of it, and from the logs I see stacked on the side of the road awaiting transport, it is an oak forest of significant age. In my mind’s eye I see the acorns scattered across the ground in a desperate last effort to carry on.

I understand the need for fields but I do not like the sacrifice these trees are called to make. I don’t believe this particular field is necessary, as it is most likely being created only to make a space more enticing to deer and other animals hunted there. I’m not against hunting, either. I’m just sick of the sounds of falling trees.

Yesterday’s Nature Journal entry was created today because a new grandbaby of mine entered the world the night before and I slept through my usual drawing/entry time.

So the acorn symbolizes the potential new life. Both for the baby and the future oaks.