On the ridge behind our farm there used to stand a hedgerow of old trees. The landowner wanted to extend his fields, so he asked a neighboring farmer if he would cut down the row. The farmer, being of an artistic and sentimental nature, asked the landowner if he might spare just one tree. The landowner, himself a kindly soul, consented. Now that One Tree stands as a sentinel over our farm, and, in autumn, a beacon of flaming orange for us as we come down our lane. Rare is the day that we don’t cry “there’s our tree”, as we return from away, and feel a little jolt of gratitude for that wise farmer.
pp with flypapers