The End of a Cedar Tree

Two full-grown trees in front of the old boys' camp bathhouse got sawn down, for no reason except they might have been growing too near the electrical wires -- but there's been no electricity running through them for 30 years. For love of the trees I counted the rings: 54. The camp buildings, now abandoned, were erected in 1957. It's a perfect match. Clearly these trees were planted to screen the bathhouse doors, and kept growing although the camp closed in 1971.The camp and trees are my exact contemporaries. With God's help I will not be abandoned to the elements or cut down at 54.

The Stained-Glass Chapel of Autumn

I dread autumn -- before it gets here. Then, when it comes -- its blue sky, translucent vivid reds and yellows, warm browns, black branches -- I step outside and it's just like a chapel; practically drives me to my knees. Here's one view. I could choose any of a hundred, a million views, all of it rustling, the light shifting, furry and feathery creatures weaving through them like spirits.

The natural Ozark foothills forest is oak and hickory. Non-native, invasive cedars (tall evergreens, conical like Christmas trees) came west with the pioneers; we know that because the oldest cedars are 150 years old. (But who can hate a tree?) What a birthday: 150! If only I may live 100 more years and see 100 more autumns!