To the Spruce Bars
It seems like the Spruce Bars were put there to impress me. Actually, impress is not sufficient as a descriptor; the hold that those trees have over me is such that further thought and further explanation are needed. Planted long ago (quite how long ago I can’t), it is always said that the Spruce Bars are the oldest planned windbreak in the country (state, county, universe?). As you can tell this is an entirely subjective entry without so much as a hint of a scholarly bent present. That is ok. This is simply an entry about the Spruce Bars and their singular ability to calm an unquiet mind. No matter my mood, the task at hand, or what is yet to come in a challenging day, that perfect arc of tree on horizon is absolutely what I should be viewing at that exact moment.
6:30AM. Only 5.5 hours of sleep to underpin my energy level and general ability to function in the midst of a final end-of-season push. Realizing that the printer really isn’t going to print my Google Maps directions, I grab the giant display board and box of brochures and newsletters I am to throw in the old Jeep (The Chief for those of you who know and care about such things) and lower my head for the overburdened walk to the rear hatch. None of this seems ideal and probably wasn’t until I finally looked to the east. Every color you can dream. The sunrise and the Spruce Bars.
It is doubtlessly true that innumerable cattle have been sheltered from the screaming winds of Spruce Mountain by the windbreak, but I still think that those trees may have been planted for me and mornings like that one.