I got a backache. That’s what I did.
First, there was the call of the mighty chainsaws. I scanned the horizon (the rooftops across the street). I saw a man in a basket. I witnessed parts of that Eucalyptus tree around the corner, succumbing and being overtaken by gravity. I walked around the corner, eyes in a glaze. Immediately, one of the guys walks up to me.
“You want some of this wood?” saith he.
I opened my mouth, and spake these words:
“I want most , if not all of it.”
“Where’s your house?”
“Around the corner.”
“How much you want?”
I yammered something like, “I can’t say. There’s so much.”
“We’ll bring some to your house with the skip loader, if you want.”
On and on this went. I walked back and got my gloves and my buggy.
I parked as close as I could, without being in the way, put my gloves on, and started working on that backache I mentioned. Got what I could. Some logs had to be rolled like a barrel close enough to lever up onto the tailgate. I was getting no help, from either the cutting crew, who had finished cutting the tree down, and were on a break, or, any of the handful of neighbors who were out, watching the activity.
It’s late-January, here in Southern California. That means some of the flowering trees have started blooming. Miss Eucalyptus was blooming. Her blooming crown, now on the ground, was a treat for the bees. I’m allergic to bee stings. I’ve found, however, that, when bees are occupied with their business, they’re not interested in me. So, I didn’t worry about the bees. I just went about, humping the logs I could carry into my buggy, til “Chevy Tough” started seeming a little less-so.
I stood there looking longingly at that trunk. About thirteen feet of 2-1/2’ to 3’ diameter glorious Eucalyptus, containing, God knows how many, pieces of furniture. Longingly, I said. I have three perfectly good chainsaws that don’t work. Two, here.
Well, sir, the crew had very nicely-running chainsaws, and were more than wiling to make some custom cuts for me. That’s how I got the buggy load into manageable sizes. But, that trunk.
Back when the Maple tree, across the street from this tree came down, I shared my dismay at having to pass on the trunk. I didn’t take pictures of the Maple trunk. And I got an earful from some of you about how I could have thought of something, some way to get some of that trunk. I went home and got my camera.
Mr. Man began bucking the trunk, while I stood there, on the verge of tears. (I’m only being a little hyperbolic.)
While another guy started grinding the stump.
I watched, with heartache aplenty as the glorious crown of this majestic tree was shunted off to the bin.
And, on the bucking went.
VIMH: This is starting to look manageable.
Way ahead of you.
”’Scuze me, good sir on the skip loader.”
“Could you please, pretty please, take those two logs over to my house?” (The log with the “X” is just too big.”)
“Ask the Boss.” (The guy with the leafblower.)
“Yes, of course”, said he. “Lead him to your house. Lead on.”
“Thank you, so much.”
They went on the parkway, next to where the biggest piece of the Maple landed, because it was too big and heavy to put anywhere else. Compare the sizes. This Eucalyptus is, by far, the biggest bit of timber I’ve bagged, to date. I need a crane and a trailer to get anything bigger. And, chainsaws that work. And a chainsaw mill.
Now, I have to find some way to get that from my buggy to the back yard. (I’m really becoming the pride of the neighborhood, I imagine. No one’s complained yet. But you know what they’re thinking.)
Happy Mozart’s 260th birthday.