Yesterday - like most days in many ways, would be chalked up to not doing anything what some people would consider being great, not much of an accomplishment - I didn't strap on an Uzi and take out 20 terrorists single-handed, didn't climb up a180' ladder to rescue a family from an apartment that was engulfed in flames and didn't set out on a solo trip around the world paddling a 40' log - nope - I didn't do any of those things. In many respects, by some, my day would have been of the same importance as hanging on a clothesline like a load of forgotten laundry. But you know, for this old guy, doing just about anything that's above ground is an achievement of sorts. I have no idea how many days are remaining before someone grabs a shovel and starts filling in my 6' deep personal hole, the one that will be home to my aching old bones for eternity or until someone declares, "Have you ever noticed that most all the cemeteries are located on hills and have great views? We should move all those moldy old graves to another location and build some high-rises or better yet; a shopping mall."
It was cold yesterday, snot flowing rapidly from my flaring nostrils that would have made a bull proud, as I tromped through the forest with two of my friends, George Probst and Gary Stairs. Some people believe that if you put your thoughts out into the Universe, whatever it is that's wished for, will happen. Hell, what I know about the Universe would half fill a thimble but I did mention to Gary that I was planning on building a tepee this summer, so lo and behold wouldn't you know it, if he and George didn't show up, not even a week later, declaring, "Let's go get your poles,." So off we go, three old farts and a dog - not sure if the dog was the youngest one or not, but like my friends, Jack the dog was great company.
Although Gary has a truck with a backseat and my body still hasn't quite filled out to twice its size because I'm doing more eating these cold days than actually physically working, I found sharing the seat with Jack the bird dog a touch cramped and on the way back home, not only found it cramped but painfully cramped - it just wasn't like the old days, when I was as supple as a newly born maple twig and we could have fit five more people beside me and a skinny girl on my lap. Driving along the winding country roads was beautiful and as we passed alongside the lake, I noticed a lot of footprints in the snow leading away from the shore; the ice being thick enough to drill a hole through it and fish. A few huts could be seen on the ice; most likely filled to the brim with a few fishermen sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels and telling lies about the whoppers they caught ice-fishing over the years.
After Gary parked the truck, he grabbed a chainsaw, George took hold of a long telescopic saw and as for me, I grabbed a small axe. Shortly after George disappeared into his woodlot that adjoined Gary's, Gary began dropping straight spruce trees that were about 23' long with the chainsaw. The trees he chose were for the most part, dead standing trees that had yet to start rotting, which was good, not only because he wasn't wasting any of the young trees but because they were already dried out, just some limbs to knock off and bark to peel. Now trying to drag a long tree out of the forest to the roadway, even though it wasn't heavy still takes a bit of doing - try finding a straight line from A to B when the trees, stiff as death, hardly bend. Although the temperature was a little below zero, not quite freeze your ass off in 3 minutes, it wasn't long before this old guy was sweating as I whacked off the limbs and stacked the trees along the edge of the road. As it turned out, dragging the trees out of the forest wasn't the hardest problem; hauling them down the road proved a touch difficult. Under the ankle-deep snow, the road was like a skating rink and it wasn't long before my feet shot out from under me and landed heavily on my back. Pain shot up and down my back as fast as a guitar-picker in a rock band and when Gary watched how slowly I picked myself up off the ice, he asked how I was and like most men, somewhat embarrassed by their clumbsiness, wanting to keep what little macho charisma I had remaining, I just smiled and said I was fine.
Just as we were about finished harvesting the poles, a Ranger drove up. Now, I've been living in New Brunswick for almost 2 years, tramped through the forest a fair bit and had yet to see a Ranger. I almost felt guilty seeing some big guy, dressed in a uniform, coming towards me but after we all got into a chin-wagging session, things seemed more like a good-old-boys reunion. The funny thing is though, the Ranger no sooner left and then a second one appeared. Now three old guys working in the bush don't need a reason to take a break but the Rangers, although neither one had much to converse about, the short time was spent amiably and gave me time to catch my breath and let the sweat dry.
Well, that's about it for yesterday; after the pole-getting session, I took it easy, even laid on the couch later that night and watched a funny movie with my wife after the kids had gone to bed. Today, after I finish writing this blog, it will be time for me to feed and water the livestock, then head up to George's to work on the pantry we're building for my wife. Thought my back might be aching like hell this morning but it's actually feeling not too bad. It's supposed to snow a fair amount today or so I heard, and I suspect those poles lying by the side of the road will be covered by the time I get back - still have to figure out how to get them home. We have a good honkin'-big diesel truck but it's only got a 6' box; a little more than just short for 23' poles - guess I'll have to see about borrowing a trailer from my neighbour Clayton Clarke - like George and Gary - he's also a good friend. Cheers, eh!
No comments:
Post a Comment