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Wednesday |
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In my two months
work-trading in Kipahulu I ran a gas-powered hedge trimmer on six-foot pole, weed whacked with wire and bush blades, macheted down banana trees, incinerated weeds with a propane tank backpack flamethrower, sliced with sickles, worked the earth with poles, picks, shovels, hoes, rakes, and mattocks, cut and notched salvaged lumber in place with a circ saw, hoisted heavy beams overhead atop ladders precariously perched on slurping mud slippery slope, hefted concrete pier blocks into painstaking position, climbed high trees for fun, and jumped off a cliff into treacherous currents. But it wasn't until one of my last days that I got hurt. Pineapples grow close to the ground with long leaves stiff and pointy as swords. One of my last tasks was to fine-weed among the closely placed plants, trying to stay conscious of the eye-poking potential stabbing at me from every direction. Just as I grasped a small upstart sprout Shorty the cat pounced and clawed my left thumb. I'm fine, thanks. It only hurts when I text. |