She Not Doing Much Damage

Last weekend, my husband and his brother went to spread Coon's ashes over the ranch.  Why'd it take them so long?  Dunno.  Anyway, they figured out they couldn't spread Coon over the ranch via airplane or helicopter without running the risk of having their dad blow back on them.  So they opted to carry him onto the ranch and spread him around his favorite fishing spot.

Jon and his brother are the fourth generation to work that particular ranch.  After the Sooners settled the area in the late 1800's, some of the streams were dammed to create several good sized lakes.  They were stocked and made fine fishing holes.  The land was also used for hunting - deer, boar, whatever's good to shoot, I guess.   So it morphed into a hunting resort for the local ritz.  During prohibition it was used as a storage and distribution point for running liquor while continuing to be used as a hunting resort by folks like the local sheriff and judge.  Legend has it there was also a brothel on the property at the time.   After that, my husband's family acquired it and used it for cattle ranching.

Coon retired off the ranch shortly after Jon and I married in the mid-80's.  His cousin actually owned the land and, when the cousin died, cousin's wife denied Coon access to the property.  He periodically sneaked in to fish the lakes anyway.  She eventually died and her daughter now owns it.  Since Coon retired, the land once again lays fallow, no cattle, no vehicles, no people except the gas company that tends the easement for its gas line. 

As Jon and his brother walked onto the ranch, they were stunned.  In less than 20 years without human intervention, it became unrecognizable to them.  The horse corral with plank fencing was not only gone, but entirely covered by brush and even had 6 foot pin oaks growing in what had been its center.  The road leading up the house was completely overgrown, impossible to trace, totally erased.  The woods consumed entire pastures that had once taken years of human effort to clear.  Hay fields could not be found.  Outbuildings were on their sides, mostly rotted and covered by plant growth.  The guys had trouble reaching Coon's favorite fishing spot - a place that once bore a well-worn path, now almost inaccessible. The house still stands, but the roof has fallen in.  It won't be there much longer.

This all begs the question:  Who do we really think we are to say we humans can destroy this earth?  As my husband witnessed first hand, what takes us generations to build, God's creation can fully reclaim in a mere two decades.

And Coon's ashes are now a part of the land onto which he poured a life time of blood, sweat and tears.

Who do we really think we are?