Most of the English hawthorn in our original restoration area has been cut down – thank you Quinn! – to make way for a planned planting this spring. We clipped, sawed, and hauled tree limbs in wheelbarrows, as many as two hearts and four hands could, through beautiful white snow. Red berries dropped like jewels into sparkling cold puddles. Birds revealed their presence through song. Falling clumps of wet snow sprung branches into oscillations that reverberated the silence around us, the smell of wood smoke hung in the air. A small white dog bound through snow yipping with the pleasure of being alive, a human chasing behind. Little snow people a witness to it all.