Owning land is a responsibility. Tennessee was woodland until we cleared the forest for our crops and animals. This was done without machines; our grand fathers used crosscut saws and grubbing hoes to make field. If we aren’t going to tend the fields they ought to be left to grow back into woods.
One of the best, and worst, feelings in life comes at that moment when we find out exactly just what we’ve been missing; when we come to grips with the fact that we once naively thought we had it all, and then came to understand that there was more, much more, out there, just waiting for us to discover it.
Perhaps more than any other time of the year, the holidays remind us of the importance of tradition; the significance of those time-honored customs that flood our minds with memories, our souls with comfort and our hearts with a sense of peace that is rarely found at the center of any other season.
Sometimes I think Peter Pan had it right all along and maybe we should always hold tight to that childlike part of ourselves that seems to diminish with each passing year. That part of us that unintentionally makes our feet tap or our heads bob to the sound of a great song, that inner spirit that urges us to stomp a rain puddle, that tiny voice inside that tells us to dive, head first, into a freshly raked pile of leaves.