[ ⋇ ] 1893, Goshen
Still later that August, during the first year of the panic, the good women of Goshen staged a tree-planting ceremony in the schoolyard, to beautify their world. The children, the mayor, and other townspeople assembled to plant two big-leaf maples, a linden, and—someone’s supreme inspiration—a Douglas fir. They were disappointed that so few men attended. The men, for their part, who had exhausted their youths and manhoods, crippled their backs, and sacrificed flesh, digits, and limbs at the task of clearing trees, marveled at the women’s zeal at planting trees, and reflected, not perhaps for the first time, that their partners and helpmeets seemed never fully to grasp the nature of their joint venture.
“They’re down at the school planting trees,” Welshy Bovard said to Elmer Pike, leaving the post office that noon. He put the faintest warm emphasis on the word “trees.” Elmer Pike replied, “I know it.” The two men’s glances met deeply, on the edge of amusement, for a fraction of a second before they parted for their respective farms to continue their tasks.
(The Living, Annie Dillard – Chapter LXX)