​

I wonder about this piece of land.

What was it like before the European's

brought the axe and plow to alter forever

the landscape of what was.

Located in a transitional region between

the eastern woodlands and the sweeping

western prairies, was it densely wooded

with maples, oaks and elm, or an open

space with mixed grasses and wild

flowers waving in the summer breezes?

As a young man I knew it as a fertile

field with rows of com, soybeans or

waving heads of wheat, but dreamed of

what it was before inspired by the

arrows heads scattered in the soil, a

reminder of the peoples who called this

place home before me.

So I made a choice and I chose to

envision a forest. In the chill of early

spring I set about with spade and

seedlings to see if this vision could be

fulfilled, row upon row of seedling, oak,

tulip, pine, sycamore and locust gently

pressed in slits in the soil between the

decaying rows of last years corn.

For many years I was not near to observe

the slow evolution of this space, but

visits revealed that change was taking

place. Slowly what I had envisioned

began to emerge, first saplings, then

small trees along with nature's natural

repair of shrubs, briars, and other plants

of the emerging ecosystem.

Today, some fifty years past, as an old

man, I stroll through this space with

wonder at what I behold, a thick young

forest of trees tall and straight in their

search for light.

Is it as it was long ago, I will never

know, but I am graced and blessed by

what is now and thankful for the vision

of my youth.

Steve Ramer

November 2023