Forest Memories

Forest Memories

When I went down to the farm my dad would mostly show me his favorite napping spots. There was a nice flat rock next to a stream that he particularly favored.

As we were walking around, he would whap with his handsaw at vines that were choking the trees. One time we were walking down a hill and just as I put my hand on a tree to steady myself, he whapped it and caught my finger with his saw. My finger started bleeding so he gave me a dirty rag to wrap it in, the only thing he had. I was like, great, I’m going to get an infection and my finger is going to fall off.

The cut wasn’t that bad–it spooked me more than anything else–but what I told my mom was “dad tried to cut my hand off in the woods” because I’d never miss an opportunity to get him in trouble. 😄 I still have a little scar.

When Bren and I got engaged he had to come see the farm. You gotta come to the farm if you’re gonna be part of the family. We were looking around all day and got really hungry; we asked my dad if he had any snacks. He rummaged around in his trunk and dug out an open sleeve of trail mix with like two almonds and a raisin left. We weren’t sure how long it had been rolling around back there so we opted to stay hungry. He apologized that he had forgotten his box of Cheerios. That’s what he lived on down there: Cheerios and Coors.

As we were leaving the farm, we noticed a knife stuck in a tree as if it had been thrown. Bren became very concerned about the family he was marrying into: being taken down to the farm and seeing knives stuck in trees is a great setup for a horror movie. We never did get an explanation for the knife but we also did not sacrifice Bren in some weird forest ritual (yet).

We’ve helped plant a few longleaf pine seedlings. It was hard work and I don’t like being outside but I enjoyed my dad’s enjoyment of the land. He was so happy to see us there. These photos are from yesterday and today when we visited his favorite spots and talked about how annoying he was. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: