Firewood..On Cutting Firewood

On Cutting Firewood

            Fred and I have been outside in the country cutting and collecting firewood.

            It’s a good way to catch some fresh air and exercise a little, picking up the sawed wood and stacking it in the truck bed. I help and I like the exercise.

            But that’s not the only reason I go.

            I tag along because I am afraid that Fred will cut his leg off.

            I know. It’s a typical woman fear. He’s a veteran at using the chainsaw and I have not yet seen him saw a tree or a log with his leg close to the chain. But I think these maudlin thoughts.  I simply don’t want him out in the middle of nowhere using that chainsaw!

            The thinking process goes something like this…”where am I if I had to call the EMTs”  How would I describe it?” (I say to myself) I ‘m so many miles south and a few miles west. That’s all I know. Gee, I sure hope I don’t need to call the EMTs!”

            I try not to think about it..But, oooo, just one little slip and whack!

            Well, I wouldn’t maybe have to call the EMTs. I could get him in the truck and take care of the wound, I think.

            Then I consider having to use a tourniquet. I know, that’s really SICK isn’t it?  I think, “What would I use? My jacket? Nooooo. Too large. My shirt? Well, maybe. But it would be difficult to rip it into shreds.. My bra! That’s it!”

            Yesterday, we drove to a piece of ground that we own. No sooner had we started to make chainsaw noises,  (brooooom, brooooom,)and  saw a dead tree down, we heard gunshots. Pop, pop, pop. They were coming from the land adjacent to us, and separated by a tree belt.

            Every so often the popping noise erupted again.

            I sure didn’t like that new danger…I can handle one at a time, but TWO? (get shot, cut leg off, get shot, cut leg off….)

            I complained to Fred. He was busy fighting with the chain saw. It wouldn’t start!

He remarked, “It’s probably someone target shooting”…

            I couldn’t see the person who was shooting. I hoped he could hear the chainsaw and would know NOT to shoot in our direction, but regardless, I didn’t feel too safe. After all, the dude might have been target shooting, and he probably was aiming in another direction, BUT I kept thinking, “Do I want to trust someone who I can’t see and don’t know where he is…to have enough sense to NOT shoot in our direction?

            “I know how a deer feels!”

            So, being the wise, logical person I am,(kidding)  I rattled Fred’s cage just a bit, saying, “I don’t like those gun shots” and then, THEN, I think I heard something whistle by…..You know, like a bullet.

            “Wweeeeeeee”, it went.

            From that point on, I changed my modus operundi. No longer would I carry logs in my arms. I made sure that when I carried a big log to the truck that I carried it in front of my head! Or, I carried “my” logs up over my shoulders, in front of my face.

            Fred looked. “What are you doing?”

            “I am being cautious just in case that shot comes in our direction.”

            I think he listened, but regardless, it was time to move. We saw a tree over the hill.

            We stopped cutting there and drove to a spot where there was a lot of dead, dry Ash wood on the other side of a hill.  It was a perfect spot where the bullet would hit the dirt of the hill and not us!!

            We made it home with about ½ truckload of wood, and I didn’t have a bullet hole in my head…Oh and Fred had his legs.

            It’s tough being a pioneer in this day and age!