If you’ve ever been to Eastern Montana, you’ve probably noticed a significant lack of trees. What trees there are grow closely together, often around home sites.

Trees don’t grow very naturally here. It’s semi-arid and the wind blows and the combination is brutal on young saplings.

In spite of this, there are trees. They were planted and cultivated carefully, intentionally. Why?

Often these tree rows are called “shelter belts” or “windbreaks.” They were designed and grown to cut wind and snow drifts, and offer shelter around homes and for animals, both domestic and wild.

I often marvel at these trees. At the intention of my ancestors, their patience and their forethought. Trees grow slowly, and many of them may not even have reaped the benefit of the trees they planted and cared for.

They did it, not necessarily for themselves, but with forethought given to the future, to their children and grandchildren, to critters not even in their care. They had no way of knowing even who exactly would benefit from their work, possibly complete strangers, yet they did it anyway.

What an investment. What a legacy. It humbles me every time I step on my porch and hardly notice the wind, except to see it in the branches.

In this day and age, where instant gratification is the catch phrase, to work for something you may never benefit from is almost unthinkable. And yet you can see countless stands of trees across the plains, sheltering homes and barns and animals, because people were willing to invest in future generations, with a care for people they would never know.

This is love, to do something with no thought for self, which is why I can never look at a shelter belt without being awed and humbled. It’s not just a windbreak, but a love letter from past generations to us. That’s surely something to be thankful for and inspired by.

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