Shoot. I am a dj, I am what I play… but I wander in the woodlot. I look at a hickory that took sixteen years to mature. Oaks that Beth and I planted here, twenty feet tall. The hickory has nuts, but the butternuts don’t. The walnuts finally crowding out box elders… Turkey foot grass — big bluestem — and prairie dropseed, and woodland sunflowers… did I finally kill the glade mallow, or did the deer help this summer? I have red oaks fighting with dogwoods, spruces, firs, pines, a lonely hemlock ripening up… cup plant prairie dock compass plant

You know there’s a walking in the woodlot blues in me mama, just trying to emerge.