It is one of my favorite places on the old farm. For some reason, it survived since the days when slaves worked this land. Its majestic trees soar farther into the sky than any others on the place, particularly the glorious white oaks that seem to rise forever.
Sometimes, we whimsically refer to it as “The Rain Forest” and on a quiet spring evening, when the leaves have developed to their utmost, we sip a late afternoon drink and half-expect to see monkeys jumping from the branches.
One of the more blessed aspects of life is the fact that a simple treasure can bring so much joy. We will never know what prompted the past custodians of the land to leave this spot untouched. We are only happy that they did.
A man came once and offered to cut the timber. We just smiled and said no. Can you imagine a barren spot resembling a view of WWI’s “no-man’s land” replacing this spot of quiet beauty? Just beyond our beloved Rain Forest is an area, owned by others, that suffered such an indignity. One can only hope the money gained was spent wisely, but the odds are against it.
Even a state forester who walked the area with Brenda once advised us to cut the older trees selectively for the health of the other growth. But no, we’ll just leave it and enjoy it.
It’s the least we can do.