We've let the back acre of the yard go wild. We own it ... I mean, the bank owns it. If the officers of the bank wanted to, they could probably make me "tidy it up". Their fundamental concern is the market value of the property, how many dollars the land is worth. I have concern for that, too, of course. But there is value for us in letting the land simply be. Wild birds nest and feed there; foxes and coyotes and deer hide there; red and gray squirrels and rabbits have made their homes there, which has attracted a redtail and his mate. The wild land presses against the "lawn" and it's a challenge to hold the line, but even that is a welcome task as it keeps me conscious of the strength and vitality of nature, and of the ultimate futility of my human resistance to its wild impulses. My labors as "husband" of the land are the price I pay to participate in a small way in what remains of local fecundity. Can a television infomercial or rerun, or "hangin' out" on Facebook, compare with the sudden breeze of a hawk swooping through the wild air to snag a mourning dove on the fly?
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