Ninety-nine percent of old-growth Douglas firs have been cut down. Which makes this one of the last of its kind.” “Is it lonely?” I asked, aching for the roots that must be reaching to find nothing to hold. “Yes,” Dad said. Then he rested his forehead against the Douglas fir, and he did something Aggie and I had never seen him do, not before that day and never again after, he wept.
