MIA on Father's Day

I stopped by Uncle Bubba's place for a visit and didn't see him about the yard so I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Sweet Pea answered and said that he had been working on a piece of wooded property out behind the house for a few months and I could find him there. I thanked her and walked the trail that lead out behind the house and through a field. Uncle Bubba had kept this hay field mown yet I easily followed the narrow path to a small hardwood forest that was cut by the many steps of one man's work boots. I was aware that Uncle Bubba had often used this tract of woods to hunt and in one of his sojourns he noticed that there was a fare bit of trash that had somehow found its way mixed in with the brown leafy floor. There were also some remnants of the old farm of which his land had been subdivided, in the form of pieces of metal and equipment. Like fossils of dinosaurs, their boney shapes reveal a hint of what they used to be. Uncle Bubba had taken it upon himself to do something about getting the forest back to it's pristine natural beauty by picking up the trash and removing the rusty metallic implements.

I walked slowly, taking in the beauty of the day and the scenery around me while watching for Uncle Bubba up ahead. I passed a dirty pile of rusted metal that Bubbie had collected and staged near the edge of the woods and was impressed with his progress. I considered that it might be a challenge to find Bubbie in the expanse of woods. Perhaps I would hear him or catch a glimpse of him moving. To my surprise I found him moments later; he was sitting on a big log on the edge of the woods staring out across the field. As I walked up behind him he seemed to be in deep thought and oblivious to my presence. I said hello and took a seat beside him on the log, shifting my weight to find a comfortable spot. He said, "Hey" and then turned back to looking out over the field. His demeanor was of a man that was waiting more than a man taking a rest. I attempted to make small talk but Uncle Bubba was disinterested.
After what seemed like a long silence, Bubbie said, "Ya know I've worked on these woods for a while, spent a good piece out here. I know that I didn't create the woods, but reckon I've done my best to give it care. I know that short of somethin' tragic it will out live me."
"Uh huh," I hummed, wanting to acknowledge my listening.
"As much as I love nature," he went on, "and give my best to be a good steward, I know that it is not about me; it's about the bigger thing..."
The scratching of two squirrels scurrying up a big old oak tree caught my attention and I watched them play tag through the tree's canopy.
Bubbie continued, "Sometimes you give your best and it doesn't work out. That's life."
We sat there silent for a while; the sunlight dappled warm on our faces through the green leaves. I knew that it wasn't the wooded lot that he was talking about, it was beautiful. And I had seen how much trash that he had removed; no, there was something else on his mind. In Bubbie's view, one can care immensely about something, or someone, and want the best and give the best but that doesn't mean that everything will always turn out rosy. That also means that you still give it your best.