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around here, most "forests" are really tree
farms, and they're
reaped like a grain crop--whacked
by machines and hauled off.
a stand that used to require a bunch of fellas
is now harvested by a feller buncher.
but then there are the independents...
keeno is a mountain of a man to be scaling
buck fifty pines (150 feet tall); he's
built like a linebacker, whereas the
climbers i've met tended towards wiry. but
bears climb trees so why shouldn't he?
chainsaw holstered at hip, spikes strapped
to his feet.
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the job can be hazardous in unexpected
ways, and not just for the faller. he
showed me the scar on his calf where he spurred
himself after slipping in sawdust on a
high platform. the wound pulsed (but
didn't squirt). he felt his boot filling
up, sock wicking red to the top. he
patched the puncture with superglue and
finished the job. but, that night, his
girlfriend's labrador ate his bloodsoaked
coveralls! chaps ain't cheap, and on top
of that the dog required $11,000 stomach
surgery. it's not the first time a worker
brought trouble home
with him.
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anyway...
he needed help mopping up a two-tree gig
and promised easy money,
a hundred bucks for an hour or two. and
true to his word he picked me up at 9
and got me back
by 11. i'm not so sure about the "easy"
part, though, because moving
and stacking dead heavy log rounds
in the gathering heat of a scorchio august
morning was like doing squats in a
sauna. quite the vigorous start to
another packed summer day of work, walking
cats, remodeling,
berry
foraging, and a bit of lazing
at the beach, where buzzards
tore at a rotting seal carcass, popping
bean pods literally shot their
seed, and i contorted myself on stony
shore trying to position the sun atop a
rock balanced on a stick
stuck in the ground. the years, i
mused, fly away, yet somehow it is
always today. |
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