As we ride our way into managed timber country, and we slowly climb the hillsides with our burdened bicycles, looking into the green valleys and slopes, we see quite a few clear cut areas that have been harvested of their abundant trees. These cuts leave scars upon the land. Precious topsoil can be lost, exposing base clay layers that will not grow plants. Properly managed they will heal. The trees will return and reign once again. With good management, careful work to establish growth, the land will one day regain a balance it once had. The land will never be the same, however it will survive.
Laboring to gain elevation, we are rewarded with a vantage point where the vistas reveal many cut areas visible because of the started undergrowth – the small plants and vines that will compete with the trees, but ultimately lose the battle for the sun. The process is agonizingly slow, but it happens because it must – if the land is to survive.
We have scars. Many of us have scars that can be seen, showing the ravages of an unfair moment in time when we were subjected to horror. Many of us have not been physically rendered by the twisted metal, but have lost those who were. This leaves scars too.
We will never be the same.
We can grow.
It is agonizingly slow.
We can survive.
We are moving forward.
Tomorrow’s ride is dedicated to Brandi, Taylor, and Sarah Wiggins
We were on Alabama State Route 84 on our way to Grove Hill today when we encountered the following sign on a bridge…
A little research turns up this from the Alabama State Legislature:
WHEREAS, in October 1997, three children, Brandi, Taylor, and Sarah Frances Wiggins were killed in a tragic automobile accident caused by a drunk driver; and
WHEREAS, we wish to provide for a permanent memorial for those children, and to educate others on the dangers and consequences of driving while drinking.