Thousands daily pass that nondescript patch of woods near my home; surely, they pay it little mind. Briers and brush tangle with a mix of native trees. As I type this, January is about to give way to February and that acreage appears particularly brown and lifeless. Could I really be the only one who knows how special it truly is? Oh, sure, the squirrel and rabbit are expected, and the tiny birds thrashing about among the ground cover. Deer? I’ve seen families spend days back there, before moving on. Fox pass through, and once, a flock of turkeys. Osprey and eagle enjoy perching on the backside of the property; on a quiet eve I can hear that old owl, but have never laid eyes on its splendor. Opossum, raccoon, groundhog, woodpecker, some snakes. Somewhere out there, even now, is a box turtle bedded down until warmer weather. It’s a blessed day when I catch it traversing my backyard.

Eight acres of absolute beauty, of God’s creation. Eight acres of industrial property, so says the map. And it’s for sale. Ripe for an excavator. Highway frontage. Progress! Daydreams: I would purchase it myself, and create a trust. When they lay me in the ground, it would become a park, named after my father. Forever preserved. However, I made myself a promise that I would never again go into debt. Not enough do I have, I’m afraid, to write out a bounce-proof check, and the friendly real estate agent let me know, ‘tis all or nothing. So, I guess I won’t be saving it. So, I pray.

My evening walks will often find me passing through Federalsburg’s Frank Adams Industrial Park. Don’t laugh; parts of it can be rather tranquil when the day’s hustle and bustle are through. Not long ago I watched as one of the wooded parcels was cleared, about the same size as the one in my neighborhood. What was once dense forest was soon a wasteland. I stood there one afternoon, a tear in my heart, as a doe and her fawn stared back at me from amid the carnage as if to say, “why?” Why, indeed. What was so important to destroy this habitat? A sturdy chain link fence was erected, to keep the pesky wildlife away, and a solar farm was planted. Well, now, I suppose a body could write a book about that there.

The construction crews have been busy, up around Denton. I suppose one day the tarmac might cover every square inch between the Choptank River and Watts Creek bridges. On Facebook, I read the comments: “when are they going to build a Chick-Fil-A, a Cracker Barrel, an Olive Garden, a Target…” and on and on. And, I wonder: why, oh why, are these folks here? What of you, dear reader? Was your family here back when Caroline was formed from chunks of Queen Anne and Dorchester? Or did you move here a week ago Thursday? I ask you, what keeps you here? Is it our abundance of asphalt? Our plentiful neon? Do you find yourself awake at night, yearning for the sound of honking horns? Oh, I sure understand property rights. I most certainly don’t want you telling me what I can and cannot do with my little slice of the American Dream. But, shouldn’t we all have a say in what we wish our county should look like? Years ago I had the chance to compare two detailed road maps, one from the Green Garden County and the other Prince Georges. The ratio of “open space” to development was almost exactly inverse. Should it be our goal to someday look like that? Or, do we put our foot down today, while we still can, and save this precious place? How about it, woodsman: can’t you spare that tree?