I thought living out here in the woods would bring me serenity. Birdsong, mossy trails, that whole “Thoreau with Wi-Fi” vibe. Instead, I appear to be smack in the middle of a low-key turf war, fought with sticks, passive aggression, and camouflage netting.
First off, the lean-tos. Somebody had put time and effort into these—serious Lincoln Log energy. Straight branches, tight lashings, the kind of craftsmanship you only get from someone who’s watched at least three full seasons of Alone. And now? They’re knocked down and scattered, like Mother Nature threw a tantrum.
Then there’s the trail sabotage. My once-clear paths now have artfully dropped branches blocking them, like a woodland version of “You Shall Not Pass.” Not enough to be dangerous, just enough to trip over and mutter about while trying not to spill my travel mug. Honestly, it feels like a passive-aggressive beaver is running a HOA out there: “Oh, you wanted to walk HERE? Sorry, bylaws say detour through this thistle bush.”
And let’s not forget—it’s deer season. Which means men in ghillie suits now roam my dog-walking area. Imagine walking your sweet pup through the pines and realizing a shrub just winked at you. The forest floor crunches, your dog perks up, and suddenly you’re having a staring contest with a bush holding a rifle. Delightful.
What gets me is the sheer variety of combat tactics. Some mysterious woodland faction is going for brute force (lean-to demolition). Another is playing psychological games (branch barricades). And then the ghillie squad just… exists, like some kind of sniper-themed Easter egg hunt.
It’s ridiculous, but part of me admires the drama. Most neighborhoods get passive-aggressive notes about trash cans. Mine? Full-scale forest feuds with set design.
So tomorrow, when I leash the dogs and step into my “serene” backyard, I’ll be prepared. Maybe I’ll carry a rake, or maybe just bring popcorn. Because honestly, the forest turf war has better plot twists than half the shows on Netflix.
freckled crab 