For the last couple of weeks there have been sounds of sawing,
hacking, whacking, slashing, gnashing, and punctuated by human sounds
unspellable. This has occurred up around the A-frame area, a piece of
wild Ozarks woods untended by humans since a fire nearly thirty years
ago.
That fire killed the big oaks but left undamaged the big southern
shortleaf pines. Where fire leaves an opening, nature moves in. There
it moved in with gusto, creating a nearly impenetrable multi-storied
mass of trees, shrubs, vines and plants galore. From cedar to
sassafras and all between. The new oaks are now eight inches across. A
grapevine of five-inch diameter undulates across one area like a giant
serpent, now looping aboveground, now diving to make more roots, now
up into the trees all around.
I went up there this morning to see what all the noise has been about.
I stopped in my tracks, jaw slacked, eyes unbelieving, at a park. A
wilderness park. The man has converted wild wilderness into a park.
One can see a hundred feet ahead. One can walk among major trees with
no fear of ticks or thorns. It is as a miracle.
Yes, this is the man recently arrived unto bona fide geezerhood, now
partaking of a government payback for the certifiably senior. Gone is
much of the gimpiness of two years ago; today the step is springier,
the eyes gleamier, the hand on the axe whammier. The need for city-
prescribed potions is diminishing. The serenity vortex that is
Heartwood is upon him.