Aug 7 2008

Aug.7^th, 2008

     I had half-filled my truck with some of the two fir trees I had spotted that had either fallen over or been blown down, about a half-mile up the dirt road up behind where my place is. This was yesterday.

     This noonish, I drove truck back up there to saw my way through more branches and brush to liberate the bottom half of what was already in my truck from yesterday. This involved sawing it loose from its lowest part near the fifteen feet high rootball wad towering over, threatening. So I sawed it off about ten feet down (across slope) from this potentially-worrisome dirt clad root tangle. The loggers call this type of tree a schoolmarm. That is to say: One wherein from grows two trees from out of . . .

     Snagging these last two (or so I've been telling myself) trees, I also was 'telling' myself: 'One for Uncle Jim, my Myrtle Point chum, and one for me. I've enough hardwood now, plus over half of my softwood 'requirement' already partially rendered (read: split small enough to fit into woodstove), and my half of this gift from the nature wizard or sorceress will fill my upcoming next three seasons' heating (and cooking) needs. I had the truck overfull by 4 PM and decided to go ahead and deliver it today and did so. Truck's worn left front wheel bearing began squeaking as I rolled into Myrtle Point, but did no further complaining on the way home. My appointment for its replacement is on Monday morning at 8 AM: juss-s-t right on taihmm, sez I, in my thoughts to myself. Right on time. I bought the eight-piece bearings and seals assemblies over a month ago already, but being behind on the firewood-rendering detail takes (now, almost took) precedence over getting truck repaired; darn thing is plenty usable and useful for me immediate needs to cover my benefactors' firewood needs for the cooler seasons soon to come.

     I have had to expend easily double the energy-outlays that I breezed through on last year when the loggers' leftover messes supplied nearly all my needs for '07-'08 without me having to fall even one tree. This year, so far, I have felled thirteen trees; all on steepish sixty degree slopes and steeper. But they were above the dirt road out to where this took place, so they came down to the road easily-enough with a tug of the truck on a cable fastened to the tree trunk's end, for my further renderings, or closer hookup to truck for dragging whole log (or halves of the fatter ones) across and down to the front yard of the barn for further rendering—usually later because, by that point, I am all worn out and quit for the day. Manana is good enough for me. After securing kindling to start a fire with and glugging some coffee and a smoke or two and some flat-on-my-back time, I usually bounce out of my bunk to grab handsaw and walk out to barn front yard to slice away dirt-filled bark as slots for to put the chainsaw through as I cut the log up into fifteen inch sections—called rounds—because if I don't clear off the dirt and gravel clinging or stuck in the outer bark, this grit dulls my chainsaw's teeth; and dull teeth do not cut fer diddle—it takes about twenty minutes to resharpen all 93 teeth again, and fresh files now cost a buck-fifty each.

     These above-described processes give me plenty of outdoor exercise time and I work clothes-less as often as it is sunny, and barefoot when out from the brambles and brush. I have sawn my way through whole messes of poison oak, succeeding in not getting scratched by the bruised ends, more than a couple times. I've lost too many bunches of skin but so far no infections and they still scab over to grow new skin under them like always, so this is really no big deal, except maybe to a love partner, which I don't have, so, it's no biggee, yet the scabs and scars peppering my arms, legs, ankles, and shoulders are worthy of mention, I think. I laff at them and their occurrances; even when the cat manages to push the 700 page 8&1/2 by 11 inch hardcover book I am currently using as my daily diary off from its careful placement on the top of a small speaker box I have on the shelf above my bed, at three o'clock in the morning comes this big ass book smashing a bunch of scab off from my forearm and taking some more skin loose for good measure, I didn;t even get mad and murder the cat or throw it away from me or even yell and cuss it. Rather, even in my barely-having-been-woken-up state, was already chuckling to myself about it.

     When I had the one tree sawed into 15 inch rounds and loaded on to truck, I sawed the other tree loose from its other half of the rootball/rootwad, and it stood itself right back straight up! Whew, I was thinking, it didn't mess me up: I escaped its potential threat. Attached the choker and tow chains to my rear bumber trailer hitch ball and dragged it to the road with out much strain on this thirty-year-old truck's worn limber frame and suspension and geartrains, U-joints, and etcetera. Hooked it up short and dragged this thirty-six feet long average foot in diameter fir log section down to front of barn for further rendering, later; and delivered the 2/3rds cord of rounds to Uncle Jim's place in Myrtle Point.

     Tomorrow, I propose to myself that I better go saw off the last two stump sections off from that schoolmarm tree's rootwad. This because it represents the largest rounds, which translates to the easiest-splitting and therefore, quicker buildup of the pile of ready-to-burn wood for the wood heating and cooking needs of the woodfired household. The one stump left is easily ten feet high and the other one is maybe six; which translates into another almost week's worth of heat . . . All I gotta do is put the chainsaw through them each and fell them. As they sit, where they sit, if I just saw them into rounds where they fall, there is a clear 'chute' through the brush and stumps to just roll them down to the truck. Then, I keep telling myself—then I shall finally see the light at the end of this firewood-rendering tunnel my vision has been tunnel-visioning itself's way through since July first. Maybe another week's worth of final renderings to pull off and get the stuff stacked under cover before the rainy season gets itself underway in earnest . . .

     Then I can get more serious and focused down to working up a familiarity with how to operate my newly-purchased Dobro style resonator guitar, and writing more 'book.'