Had I been a pioneer in America 150-200 years ago we would still be living along the Atlantic coast, or the Pacific had I been of Spanish descent. Clearing the land so settlements could be built is not in my DNA.
Extreme winds of the last few days blew down a 20-foot sapling in the corner of our back yard. Homesteader Gilda saw a Sunday chore for me, now that I have a mini battery-powered chain saw.
Eager-beaver that I am, I quickly assented.
I know, some of you skeptics out there already question my sincerity. First, that I was eager to perform. Second, that I quickly agreed without a fight.
Let me assure you I am not fabricating or exaggerating. The fallen tree was ideal fodder for my relatively new machismo toy—not too big in length or girth. Besides, it was a sunny and not too windy or cold day. Perfect for outdoor activity, which if I didn’t have her assigned chore to complete would have required me to spend an hour or so walking with her.
I spent the better part of an hour prepping the trunk—chopping off the branches into bite-size twigs small enough for city public works crews to pick up from baskets I filled and hauled to the curb.
Next, I attacked the trunk starting at the narrow top. A clean cut every 16 inches or so. Nearer to the base the mini saw was too mini to complete the task. Hand-sawing was required. Tiresome, back and forth hand-sawing.
Releasing the base and root system from the outcropping of rock where the sapling had staked out its short life was relatively easy. My chore, all in all about three hours, was seemingly complete, until Gilda assigned two more spring garden prunings.
As Scarlett O’Hara used to say, “After all, tomorrow is another day.” So I packed up and went inside.
