persistence

Echo Valley Farm is in its twenty-fifth year. Years ago, I met an old man in our little town who asked where I lived. When I told him, he boasted that in one day they had taken down more trees on that property than anywhere he could remember. It’s funny how we learn unexpected truths. I saw his pride and recognized that talking about clearcutting was not a battle I could win – not this way. But since then, every year we purchase 75 to 100 saplings from our county conservation department. Now many red oaks, maples, apples, elderberry, burr oaks, white pines and spruce have found a home here.

This year we chose trees that have life spans of 200 to 300 years, hickory and chestnuts. Their nuts may begin producing in five to ten years. The healing of the land continues. Over time I’ve learned that the deer will mow down every unprotected sapling. Wire fences work great, until the rabbits teach you how much they love to girdle the young fruit trees. So now another layer of protection is required to ward them off until each marvelous breathing tree is capable of withstanding the onslaught.

And this is the resilience and the persistence we need. We live in a time of reckoning. From the moment colonizers landed on Turtle Island, as Indigenous People recognized North America as Turtle Island, there has been a rush of exploitation of land, water, and people. This finite approach toward living is reaching its zenith and a swift fall will follow. Those in control who are willingly ready to destroy the earth and have no compassion for any being living here are outnumbered and soon will be outflanked.

Let us be like water; find a way around the obstacles. Healing is not only possible; it’s joyful.

With each passing year, I fall deeper in love with the forest that will one day be.

above photo: 25 year old spruce; 15 year old oak

below photo: 3 yer old red maple living in what will become a sugar bush

The day began with an unexpected twist. A chick was left unattended and even though the night had not been cold, the mother’s warmth was lacking and the chick was barely alive. I’ve seen this before and knew the warmth of my hands would be enough to rejuvenate the little one. Soon enough the feet began to move and the chirps became stronger. When I attempted to return the chick, the dubious mother was wary. I placed the chick at a safe distance for her to hopefully recognize him and sheltered both of them from the other chickens, not knowing what might transpire. At last glance, the mom was still sitting on her nest and the chick had found a way to nestle in beside her. Persistence is a gift.

Knowing what you need is also a gift. The chick needed warmth, water, a bit of food, to be cared for and it chirped and gathered strength to find its way. And apparently, I needed to be observant and to recognize what I could do for the little guy and what was not in my domain.

I can’t say what will be the chick’s future. I don’t know whether it will continue to thrive. But I do know that what we shared in a brief moment of time was precious.

It has become cliche to say, “Small acts of kindness matter”, but it’s true. And the act of giving kindness is never solely for the recipient. The giver reaps equal reward.

There’s a movement afoot to end the need for charity. Think of that. To live in a world where the systems of oppression no longer hold us hostage, and kindness rules.

I believe that world is not only possible, but here for those who choose it.