Soon, I was trying to guess what he saw in the wood before he could explain it.
Eventually, we reached the upper end of his land, where the gambel oak grew thickest—though it was clear that he did his best to maintain it.
I glanced at the marked trees, but none of them looked big enough for the mill. “Not sending any of the oak this year?”
He shook his head. “I got lucky with it last year. I’ll be able to do some small projects, but most of it’ll be firewood.”
I studied the trees. “Looks like you might have some big enough.”
He laughed. “Maybe. But I listen to my forest guys. Diseased, damaged, or ladder fuels first. Then we move on to crowding. Last year, I had a couple of the oaks that had just gotten too close for their size. They’ll make great pieces, but it was a shame to bring them down.”
I smiled. “I get it.”
There was a beat of silence, then he spoke again. “Want to sit for a minute before we head back down? There’s a clearing nearby where we can take a break and hydrate.”
I blinked. Was he tired? We’d been walking, but it hadn’t been too draining.
“Sure?” I replied. “If you want.”
Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that his cheeks were a bit pinker than they’d been before he’d asked.
“This way.”
I followed him through a couple of trees and noticed that there was an overgrown path between them. We pushed low-hanging branches out of the way, then the forest seemed to fall away as the trees opened up.
“Wow…” I breathed.
Some sort of rock shelf under the surface soil had created a natural clearing with a stunning view of the lake.
I stood there, looking out over trees that we’d walked through. The canopy created a path of green—with a few early yellow leaves sprinkled in—that drew the eye right to the sparkling water of Sable Lake. I shifted and studied the area closer to where I thought the road was, and could just make out the roof of Randy’s cabin poking through.
He stood off to one side, trying to hide the way he was fidgeting.
“This is beautiful,” I said, turning to smile at him.
He returned the smile. “It is.” He turned to gaze out over the lake. “I love it here.”
He cleared his throat and took a few steps. “Come on. We can sit over here.”
He led me to where several flat boulders had been set up near the natural ledge created by the rock shelf. Ancient and blackened bricks formed a firepit.
“Watch your step,” he cautioned as we got closer. “Don’t trip over the eyebolts.”
I blinked, then studied the ground. It took a minute, but I eventually spotted a circle of rusted steel poking up from the ground. I crouched, hooked my finger through the hole, and pulled, but it was firmly anchored.
Randy chuckled. “They ain’t goin’ nowhere. Grandpa made sure of that.”
I looked up at him. “Grandpa?”
He let out a chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “We used to come up here to camp when I was a kid.”
“Before the cabin?”
The chuckle turned into a laugh. “No. The cabin has been here since before I was born. I guess… this was our version of putting up a tent in the back yard to sleep under the stars.”
I smiled as he spoke. His voice was filled with nostalgia, and I understood that this clearing was special to him.
I stood and followed him to the boulders, where we each took a seat. Russy laid down at his feet.
