Perspective I Suppose
Twas perspective I was looking for as the team drove into our farmyard unannounced. The long laddered truck ready to hoist the young men and their chainsaws was telltale of what was soon to go down, or rather, what must come down—depending upon your perspective.
Friendly enough they were as they stood looking up at the power lines. Like comrades, their smiles and laughter erupted from time to time igniting their love of the job. The sun was out and so were they as their cheerful attitudes filled the country air.
That was several years ago. Now, as I made my way up the gravel, what they left behind was written upon the landscape. I paused to take note as each season exposed the slight shift in how my world had changed.
The flowering crab trees had once draped over the barbed wire fences poetically making their mark. Their fullness brought joy as did the northern pines skyrocketing upwards as if pointing to the Maker of them. “Much obliged,” they seemed to say, praising their rootedness from whence they’d launched.
Family members had not only helped plant the trees but watered and fertilized each one. It was merely a matter of years before they were fully grown, and I admired how mature they had become.
After the young men who’d rambled into the yard completed their work, the power lines were no longer in danger of being damaged due to the rapid growth of the trees. After they’d finished working in our yard, I soon heard the buzzing and sawing directly across the road. One day later, when I took my daily walk, I noted the trees had gotten their money’s worth of a trim. And just like that, I had to make the mental adjustment that a half a tree was better than no tree at all.
Today, the flowering crabs were leaning heavily to one side of the fence and the northern pines were trying desperately to regain that which had been taken. As I looked skyward, I noted the power lines were now free and clear to do the work for which they were created. The poles and wires
