MY FOREST      

           I followed a log truck loaded with tiny logs for what seemed like forever. My mind wondered why anyone would cut such tiny trees. As I drove, my mind wandered to a small farm off a dirt road in Eastern Kentucky, my childhood home. Although I don't live there anymore, I try to visit my aging parents every week-end.

            ‘Dad, what’s that equipment doing in the barnyard”, I asked when .

            “We sold the timber”, my dad told me.

            “Oh no! Why would you do that” I said without thinking of my tone or how my father would hear the question.

            “Because, my father said in his ‘I’m the Dad’ voice, “I don’t want you to have to pay for me to be buried when I die”.

            My heart sank. I had no reply.

            I have lots of special childhood memories in those trees that grow tall on those steep slopes of my father’s farm.

            The steep hillside came down directly behind the barn leaving barely enough room for the mules and cows to walk through to get to the front of the barn. Far upon the hillside stood a giant pine tree; the guardian of the forest.  It would shed so many needles in the fall the whole side of the hill would be covered in golden brown. My brother and I would take burlap feed sacks up to the tree. We would get inside the sacks just like we were going to run a sack race. Instead we would sit down and slide down the hill in a trench filled with needles.

He would say “you go first”

“No You go first”

Paper rock and scissors didn’t work either so we counted together, “one, two, three and off we would go. Sometimes we would go so fast that I thought surely I would take flight and slap into the side of the barn. Just when we got the barbed wire fence we would lay on our backs and sail into the barn yard. Then it was back up the hill to do it all again.

It wasn’t a really smooth ride but it wasn’t bad; I suppose the rocks and sticks were covered deep enough with needles from that big tree that we  didn’t feel a thing; at least they didn’t hurt enough to keep us from doing it time after time.

I remember when Dad cut that big tree. It left a hole in the forest. It was like the guardian was removed from the fortress entrance and the play ground was gobbled up. Even though the other trees have grown and filled in the space where the giant pine stood, there’s still a hole in the forest. I stand in the yard of my childhood home and look up the hill and remember exactly where that giant tree stood. The hill is still steep and often times I hear the excitement of a brother and sister daring each other to go first down the hill until they decide to race and start at the same time.

            I think about that truck and those small logs and wonder will I ever see another guardian of the fortress; a giant tree; an oak or pine or hickory…. one that is large enough to leave a hole in the forest….. forever. And I wonder…If I had a forest what would I do….how would I manage it. But for now I can only wish and imagine.

            I wish I had a forest; one with tall trees and a clear cool stream.

            I wish I had a forest; a steep hillside or a river bottom filled with trees that would take three, no four, no five. Yes five people to reach around it.

            I wish I had a forest with tall skinny trees growing toward the sun; a place for birds to come in the spring.

            Deer would make trails for me to follow in my forest.

            My forest would be a special place to relax and escape the stresses of life. I would have a huge rock beside a riffle in the stream. As I sat on my rock, the stream and gentle breeze would make music so the birds could sing. My forest would be a place to take my pen and paper and write about all the things that happen there.

            I wish I had a forest to watch bloom in the spring; to explore during the summer; to walk through the colorful autumn leaves as they fall like rain upon the forest floor; and in winter gaze in wonderment at the many snowflakes that fall without making a sound yet demand the tree limbs be strong enough to hold them as they gather to make my forest a magical place. A place for me, and you, if you want to visit.