Land

It had taken a lifetime to unwork the land - protect it as it went wild, and make the necessary repairs. They had questioned Liv's sanity for decades now, pointing to the obvious folly of buying 40 acres of inhospitable, commercially useless dirt. "But that was the whole point," Liv whispered to herself. She had addressed erosion on the paths the goats had trample cleared; she'd planted unremarkable ancient grains all along the outcroppings to be self-watering. She'd carefully reinforced the caves and sealed the manmade wells. "The last bit," Liv said (mostly to herself, but also to the hills and forest and rugged outcroppings and mud basins and everything that lived there). "This is the last bit." Secretly, she'd cleared an area where it would be possible to leave additional food and salt in the winter; the soil saturation system switch was also there (embedded in and hidden by the rock) in case of fire. Liv nodded to one of the volunteers to push down, and they hesitated. "Don't you want to do it? You've worked so hard," they responded. Liv smiled. "It's never been about me, so it can't be about me now." They nodded and initiated the low blast that closed the last road up; no vehicles could safely climb the grade after that. "Let's go back to HQ and have some champagne," she offered cheerfully. "Good job, everyone." They would finish two bottles from the ice chest before Liv climbed into the driver's seat of the bulldozer and pushed the shack over. She wobbled out, stepped back, and admired the logs laying there in a pile. "Goodbye," she said quietly to the land and all of its inhabitants. She was moving into town today, and it would be difficult, but Liv was ready. The cities were for people, and the land was for itself.