We've spent many hundreds, no, thousands of hours in our woods. During this time we've learned to identify each tree, which contain denning cavities, who occupies them, and when. We monitor owls' nests and keep records of the comings and goings of myriad wildlife in our journal.
We've improved deer trails by clearing fallen debris and those trails have become our foot paths. The deer keep the paths maintained through their browsing and constant passage.
We have a lot of affection for our trees. If a fallen tree pins down lesser trees, we work to free them so that they may continue to flourish. They are like our children. Moreover, we are their children.
The carpet of wildflowers in spring heralds a joyful rebirth from the cold, naked winter. We've learned the flowers names and habits. And always, we're careful not to disturb them.
In autumn we collect hickory nuts from under the shagbarks, leaving half for the squirrels to cache and plant.
There is a large boulder with a sloping side that serves as an ideal backrest. We'll sometimes sit quietly with our backs to the rock until the woods come alive with activity. Moonlit nights become a haunting, nocturnal symphony. It's the greatest show on earth, eerie and surreal.
When we bought this property and discovered it backed up to hundreds of acres of woodland we felt as if we'd won the lottery. It had always been our fantasy to live in a remote woodland so we feel giddy with fat fortune.
Our woods bring us solace, wonder, and a sense of renewal. We feel rich beyond imagination.
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