The Lucky Fiasco

I understand Thomas Edison said something similar to "luck is 99% perspiration and 1% being in the right place at the right time." Well, today luck was luck, not perspiration and certainly not smarts.

A tree died along our fence line. For several months, or maybe a year or two, we've watched that tree, wondering if a storm might tip it onto the road. This morning, chainsaw in hand, I decided it was time to beat the storm. A few weeks ago I attended a seminar entitled "Law and Literature." Nothing's relevant to today's experience except for the keynote speaker's joke that "lawyers think they can do anything." I've mentioned that to my students and warned them that maybe certain lawyers can do anything if they adequately prepare.

I set out to prove that joke. I gnawed a nice notch on the fall-in side, carved exactly the way I'd read it should be done, and the way I'd done it a fair number of times before. Then I got nervous. Maybe the funeral procession that passed by had something to do with it. What if the tree fell the wrong way? I almost called a friend or two, for last rites perhaps, but heck, give it a go, I decided. I hadn't read, or at least hadn't remembered, that it might be a good idea to hammer in a wedge or two as I made the final opposite-side cut.

As the tree began to move, I noticed a little twist and thought one of those words I wish young people wouldn't say so readily, like the day my father remembered the hammer he'd hung on a tree branch as he swung down from that very same branch, except his words were "darn it!," the nastiest language I ever heard him utter.

Now came luck. The neighboring tree reached out and caught its long-time companion, as if to say "don't leave me yet." And more luck. When I called Dudley's Tree Service, he'd just finished a job and was on his way over. Karen and I pretended to be traffic cops for an hour or so, then the job was done.

"You had me worried," says Virginia.

You worried? Think how we'd have felt tonight if Mr. Dudley hadn't been so handy, if strong winds blew or rain turned to ice, and we feared some poor soul might drive under that leaning tree at exactly the wrong time. Phew!

Thank You

As we left to take our son to the airport this morning, I said I would need to focus on firewood this coming week.  What do you know? Manna from heaven had arrived with dew in the night!  At the corner of our property, which poor drivers tend to visit from time to time, firewood littered the roadside.  "I wonder if it'll be there when we get back," I said.

We forgot the gift until we returned and saw it waiting.  For whom?  Certainly the previous owner had noticed it sliding off his truck or bouncing out of sight.  Why didn't he stop to retrieve it?  Maybe his radio had been blaring and he didn't sense a thing.  Maybe he wrecked at the corner and abandoned his load (not likely, it wasn't a full load).  Maybe he stole it and when it slid off he was afraid a pursuer would catch him reloading.  Maybe he realized his truck was overtaxed, so he purposely lightened his load.

Enough hours had passed, so I decided to assume the firewood was abandoned, for whatever reason, that it was waiting for me or someone else, most likely me, because it rested on my land.  Still, as I threw it over the fence, I felt a tad guilty that some poor soul had met misfortune and I was abusing his trust by not saving it for him.

"Maybe he was the guy who drove through the fence a few years ago and left a pickup in the field," says Virginia, "and he was repaying you for the damage."

Exactly.  Or maybe someone else was leaving me an anonymous late Christmas present, and wouldn't he feel bad if I wrenched my back moving the firewood to our woodshed?  Maybe he'd been sawing up one of our trees and quickly departed when our lights turned on.  No, that would have been a bunch of trees -- a sycamore, a couple oaks.

"Right," says Virginia, "or maybe he'll be pounding your door tonight asking what happened to his stuff."

Exactly.  That's why I put it back where I found it.  Someone else can hassle the consequences.  (Did I really?)

Fire Hazard

Karen reported a warm 50 degrees (F) this morning. That, combined with her cleaning out the barns to add to the greenhouse compost bin, and a dwindling pile of properly sized firewood, pulled me outside.  I snapped on my Christmas coveralls, sharpened the chain saw, and set to work.  Suddenly it felt as though I was standing naked in cool air. "What is that cold stuff running down my leg?"  Colder than water, boom, my brain figured it out and shut off the saw.  If it had waited much longer this blog entry or any others might never have been conceived.  I changed into different clothes and tried again.

I don't know what got into me, burning through 4 tanks before stopping.  (Actually, 5, but we can't count the first one.)  Usually I'm spent after two.  The five truckloads of logs Adam and I collected a couple months ago have been reduced to 5 or 6 thick challenges.  After they're conquered, it'll be time to rent a logsplitter to finish off a big pile in the corner of the woodshed.

"Wuss," says Virginia. "Didn't I see a new awl leaning against the woodshed wall?"

Yes, pretty new, but I'm not a wuss -- I'm a realist.  As Hellgate demonstrated, this fellow has trouble staying upright.  Put an awl in his hands and, well, even Virginia better not come close.