January 4

I took the dogs for a walk this morning, cutting through the singular line of spruce pines that sit across the road like a fence and bordering the farm fields. These pines are surely mature by now, after having been planted as a break by the elder Cournoyer some 60 years ago.

As we passed underneath to the field, I looked up through the boughs, interlocked and swaying in the morning breeze. These trees shelter many different birds and squirrels throughout the year but particularly now when much of the ground cover and low bush is either covered in snow or bereft of leaves.

These same trees shelter us from the northwesterly gales that often blow in the winter. They break both the wind and the drifting snow as they come across the field toward the house.

These trees are well known by an acquaintance in town who works the power lines. Each year we lose one or two of these giant pines to the wind or ice, and they invariably fall to the leeward roadside, coming down on the power line or blocking the road. Last December, in a violent windstorm, the power went out on account of one of those trees crashing down. No sooner had my acquaintance come with a crew to cut the tree and restore the line then did fifteen minutes later another tree do the same.