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1
ASH
Igather with my four brothers—Birch, Cypress, Everest, and Forest—at our family's creaky four-generation home nestled in the White Pine Mountain forest. The crisp morning air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath, readying myself for the day ahead. We’re heading out together to walk the perimeter of Nilsson Lumber's sizable logging terrain, planning our next harvest sites.
My boots crunch on gravel and fallen pine needles as we hike up the winding path. I point out areas ripe for cutting, gesturing with my calloused hands. Birch pipes up with a joke about my non-existent love life, eliciting chuckles from the others.
I roll my eyes and shove him playfully. "At least I don't have to beg for dates like you," I retort, inciting an eruption of laughter from the group. Though we tease each other constantly, our brotherly bond runs deeper than the mountain's bedrock.
I survey the endless evergreens surrounding us, taking pride in our generations-old stewardship of this rugged land. As long as there are Nilssons here, these forests will remain our protected domain, I vow silently. No fancy outsiders will ever encroach on our way of life.
The laughter and jokes fade as we crest the ridge. I stop short, my smile vanishing. Below us sprawls a flurry of activity - bulldozers razing trees, workers shouting orders. My gut twists. It's the site for the new glamping retreat Everest mentioned a few weeks back.
"Damn it," I curse under my breath. I'd blocked out the fact that construction was starting already. My brothers gather around, faces hardening as they take in the destruction.
"Bastards," Birch spits. "Coming in here like they own the place."
The others grumble in agreement. I feel my jaw clench, my hands balling into fists. Don't they understand the damage they're doing by clear-cutting these ancient woods? How dare they threaten our family's livelihood this way?
I hold up a hand, silencing my brothers' angry murmurs. "We'll handle this," I say firmly, holding each of their gazes. They nod, deferring to me. As the eldest Nilsson, it's my responsibility to protect our interests from outside forces. It has been ever since our father died.
I turn back to watch the buzz of activity below, nostrils flaring. By permitting that resort, the county has betrayed generations of Nilsson stewardship. But they'll regret backing the wrong side. I have no intention of letting some fancy glampers drive us out.
I turn to my brothers, reading the concern on their faces. They’re looking to me to protect our home and livelihood.
“The county may have permitted this, but they’ll regret backing outsiders over locals,” I say, anger simmering in my gut. “They have no right to decide the fate of our mountain.”
I kick a rock off the ridge in frustration. “I filed every objection, petitioned the parks commission, and they still approved it!” The betrayal stings deep. I thought if anyone understood the balance here, it would be them.
My brothers murmur in shared outrage. They know how hard I fought this. How many hearings I attended, arguments I made. But bureaucracy doesn’t care about tradition or what’s right - just money.
“I won’t let them take our mountain without a fight,” I vow, fists clenched. I’ll exhaust every legal channel first, but if that fails, more drastic measures may be required. Our family survived here for generations - I won’t let some suited investors sever that bond for their own profit.
This is Nilsson land. Our blood and sweat soak this soil. And I'll be damned if I let them take it from us.
My brothers exchange uneasy glances, hesitant to voice what we're all thinking.
"Maybe we should, you know..." Birch trails off, scuffing his boot in the dirt.
Cypress picks up his thought. "We could run them off real quick if we just caused some trouble. Slash some tires, cut power lines. Little things to send a message."
The others nod, anger boiling up beneath their flannel shirts. They want to fight for our home as fiercely as I do.
Part of me thrills at the thought of sabotage. It would be so satisfying to strike back, to show these outsiders they've messed with the wrong mountain men.
But as the oldest, the responsibility falls to me to rein in my brothers' hotheadedness. Ma raised us better than petty vandalism, no matter how justified it might feel.
"I know you boys mean well," I say gently. "But we gotta handle this right."
I lay my hands on Birch and Cypress's shoulders. They're solid as oak, just like Pa’s were. "The Nilssons have survived worse than this, and we will again. But we'll do it honorably. I have a friend in the Bureau of Land Management office. I’ll take care of it."
They grumble but don't argue. They know I'm right, even if they hate to admit it.
I turn back to stare out at the half-cleared ridge, jaw clenched. I wish I shared their confidence that I can make this right. But one man alone can only do so much against corporate money.
I stare out across the ridge, anger simmering in my veins. The wound in the forest stretches wider now; trees felled carelessly to make way for garish tents and party decks. It's a desecration of all we hold sacred.
My fists clench at my sides. I want nothing more than to storm over there right now and tear those buildings down with my bare hands. But I know that won't solve anything. It will only cause more trouble for my family, and we have enough of that already. So I take a deep breath and force myself to turn away. Right now, I need to focus on coming up with a real plan—some way to legally stop this development from destroying our livelihood and home.
