Excerpt from Ecology of a Cracker Childhood...
Clearcut
If you clear a forest, you’d better pray continuously. While you’re pushing a road through and rigging the cables and moving between trees on the dozer, you’d better be talking to God. While you’re cruising timber and marking trees with a blue slash, be praying; and pray while you’re peddling the chips and logs and writing Friday’s checks and paying the diesel bill – even if it’s under your breath, a rustling at the lips. If you’re manning the saw head or the scissors, snipping the trees off at the ground, going from one to another, approaching them brusquely and laying them down, I’d say, pray extra hard; and pray hard when you’re hauling them away.
God doesn’t like a clearcut. It makes his heart turn cold, makes him wince and wonder what went wrong with His creation, and sets him to thinking about what spoils the child.
You’d better be pretty sure that the cut is absolutely necessary and be at peace with it, so you can explain it to God, for it’s fairly certain He’s going to question your motives, want to know if your children are hungry and your oldest boy needs asthma medicine – whether you deserve forgiveness or if you’re being greedy and heartless.