The Log

IN THE WOOD-SPLITTING AREA on Fawn Island rests an old log that was here when we arrived—hired by the local loons and white-throated sparrows as Caretakers—a quarter-century ago. The log was for a long time a sawing and splitting a log, a workbench of sorts. Now, deeply gouged and cut and partly rotted and abused, it is just a log. An old friend who has survived rough times. But more. It is also home to a whole garden of life—mosses and lichens and three tiny trees—two spruces and a balsam fir. It is a favorite place for red squirrels to eat their pine cone lunches. And it is still a good place for a Caretaker to sit and think about such things, about old broken logs and the continuing resurgence of beauty, and of life.

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