Surgical Strikes are not Performed by Doctors
Victory is ours once again! We returned to the scene of Friday's battle against the buckthorn and slew great swathes of the enemy. I personally eliminated five hostile battalion commanders* and their attendants. I could not have performed my duties without the guidance and training provided by our most excellent sergeant nor without my stalwart comrades in arms.
Stomping through the battlefield with saw and clippers reminded me of my childhood spent stomping through imaginary battlefields with sticks and ... other sticks. Every moment I smelled cedar, I was propelled back through the corridors of memory. My brothers and I roamed all over the fields and forests of Door County. I could feel the tensions of the last few weeks fading away with each intake of breath. Every squelchy step in the flooded forest left angry emotions stuck in the mud and detritus. Every buckthorn hewn down was a satisfying accomplishment, something that has been particularly absent in my life of late.
*These were fruiting buckthorn, about 1-2.5 inches in width. Without my dad's knee-high boots, I would not have been able to get to three of them because they were too close to the overflowing creek. Thanks, Dad!