So I was riding my bike in the woods nearby and I came across a logging operation. As I crossed the harvest path, I could see the devastation that accompanies this work and a thought came, did anyone say a prayer of thanks for all the lives taken? Did anyone bend a knee and say “Grace” for the gift of resources and for the “collateral damage” of this activity?

I come from a logging family; my father was a tree-faller for nearly 50 years. I wondered if he ever said a prayer before beginning a cut? The last time I went to visit I balked. I was afraid to ask. Not because I feared his disapproval, but because I didn’t want to put him on the spot.

So, I had this vision. A logger brings his equipment to a place on a dirt road. He unloads his saws, fuels up the tractors, takes a moment to get his bearings, then he and his crew kneel and together they offer a kind of Grace. He says a prayer of thanks for the bounty the land will give him, his family, and the community he serves. He grieves the death and destruction, and offers gratitude for the life that will come. He and his crew take a moment of silence, then stand and begin to work.

The next part of the vision sees the crew making choices along the way. They leave a tree that doesn’t need to be cut, give some animals time to get out of the way, or take a moment now and then to appreciate the beauty around them. In the end, they have the lumber harvest they need, their families are housed and fed, and maybe they leave just a little less destruction. And, their prayers reverberate out into the living world and the balance of life and death is maintained—both in the living world and within each of their souls.

The weight of the devastation I see when I ride continues to affect me. The land has grown brown and dead looking as summer comes. I know that soon life will emerge—she always does. Ferns will spread their fronds, various small plants will reach for the sun, and the first trees will rise up to the sun. In the mean time, however, it is an uncertain time. In other parts of the world, logging has changed weather, turned land into desert, and forever altered the terrain.

Not long ago I was traveling along the edge of the clearcut and, as I looked over the vast brown, I had a thought: where is the beauty? I knew there wasn’t much I could do to stop logging. Maybe I could prevent it from occurring ‘here,’ but that would only mean logging would occur somewhere else. After all, I use lumber just like everyone does! I also know that sooner or later Nature will bring all manner of beautiful life to repopulate what was razed—it is what She does! However, I wondered what COULD I do?

Too often I look at something terrible and I shake my head, then move on. This time however, after that heartfelt day on my bike, I was at the hardware store and I saw a display. ‘Hummingbird Wild Flower Seeds.’ A thought came and a plan emerged: Plant flowers! In the presence of this destruction, I could bring the seeds of beauty! That day I purchased the package of seed and every day since I have taken a few minutes out of my ride or walk to scatter wild flower seeds.

The story does not end here. Needless to say planting seeds and seeing the beauty does not happen at the same time. So, as I made my daily offerings throughout the year, I began to carefully watch everything. I soon discovered this challenged land was rich with beauty! Way more than what I planted! So much life and beauty everywhere—if I took the time to look! It soon became that no matter where I went beauty caught the eye of my heart. Life, no matter how interrupted, seemed to spring forth everywhere!

I discovered a long time ago that gratitude goes hand in hand with grief. There is no loss that doesn’t contain kernel of something to be grateful for. It is said that great suffering brings great appreciation.

Now this is my practice—acknowledge beauty, bring beauty, and be open to beauty in all its forms.

1/9/21