Boardman +

The air was still as I walked through the endless grid of trees at the Boardman tree farm. Rows upon rows of uniform trunks stretched out in a perfectly structured maze, each towering sentry reaching for the sky, their branches whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting an intricate pattern of shadows on the rich, dark soil beneath my feet.

As I moved deeper into the rows, the overwhelming sense of tranquility was juxtaposed with the impending change looming over the last stand. I could see the remnants of recently cut trees, their stark stumps a reminder of nature that stands in the face of human progress. The forest, once a thriving community of life, now felt like a quiet battleground, where whispers of loss mingled with the rustling leaves.

With each step, I became acutely aware of the interplay between man and nature—the delicate balance that was beginning to tip. The trees stood tall, yet there was an undeniable ache in their presence, a collective memory of what was and what was about to be lost. This place, rich with history and life, felt like a sanctuary, a fleeting glimpse of beauty on the brink of destruction.

In that moment, surrounded by the silent guardians of the forest, I took a deep breath, hoping to imprint the scene in my mind, knowing this tranquil expanse would soon change. It was a bittersweet farewell to a treasured landscape, one that would soon be marked by absence rather than presence.