On brush piles, a metaphor

I've seen it before and now am seeing it again. As the wooded edge of our property gets cleared, we decided to create medium-sized brush piles of the cuttings along the way, instead of paying someone else to haul the brush away, instead of burning, which works well but adds a layer of stress to the work that I wasn't eager to take on.

Our farm helper (I dislike the use of the word helper here since he is in fact doing all the work - champion is more like it, as he is conquering some tasks we simply cannot do in any reasonable time frame) has meticulously layered the brush as he goes, avoiding the natural draining paths and areas where the pile would interfere with other growth we want to encourage.

There's a fairly long section of running cedar that is quite lovely and seems to prohibit brushier volunteers, so we opted to protect that and the brush piles were put on either end of it.

Initially the first few piles seemed large and although not ugly, they did catch my eye in a way that I didn't like, presenting as things to be gotten rid of at some point.

Years back we had a huge brush pile from my own clearing of overgrown garden beds and a few other areas and the pile was higher than my head and double the width of my arms spread wide. I fretted that pile for a year and then one day happened to glance out the window only to realize that nature's process of decay had done the chore for us. The pile had composted itself down to almost nothing.

Already I am seeing these smaller piles doing the same thing. The newer ones seem huge now in comparison to the earlier piles, which now look shrunken, and brown, blending into the landscape even more than they did when freshly cut and green.

I've seen birds using them for cover and squirrels dashing in and out. I suspect the bunnies are using them as well.

I notice how my own stresses and worries do the same thing - looming large and unwieldy and then shrinking down to the point that eventually they become memories instead of active thoughts.

The piles are now appearing to me as a sort of natural art installation. When I view them that way, they become that. A late summer show. I'm looking forward to seeing how they transform through the fall, into winter.