The name of the game for the rest of the day was WOOD. I returned to cut up the rest of the ash tree that had been dropped the day before.
Mama didn't have no complete dummy. Rather than chance getting the tractor stuck again on the rough, stump strewn, ground, I opted to carry each piece to the edge of the woods to be loaded later.
Ash is a dense, hard, wood, and heavy as maple or oak. Well, at least it feels that way. It's a good thing I'm super hero Pawpaw the Claw, or I'd have never been able to cart the heavy bottom pieces out.
Don't tell Hambone, but Pawpaw the Claw was gulping ibuprofen by the fistfuls last night. I'm pretty sure that I'm not supposed to feel my heart beat in my lower back.
It took a while, but eventually, the first of four huge loads was taken to the shed.
Ash rivals elm for being the stringiest wood I've ever worked up. Rather than split cleanly, it acts more like string cheese, wanting to peel off one strand at a time.
It was well into the afternoon before the wood was split, stacked, and the wood splitter stored away. Sargie and I have put up over a full cord of hard wood in the past few days.
I was driving the last load to the shed when the tractor suddenly sounded, as the kids say, bad ass.
Just so Mom doesn't reach down from Heaven and wash my mouth out with soap, I'm going to assume that means naughty donkey. Both are real work horses, 'er, work donkeys.
I stood on the clutch, slammed on both brakes, and shoved the shift into neutral before jumping to the ground. Seems the fix I made to the muffler pipe four years ago decided to give way.
Not only did it fall in the wrong direction, it managed to entangle with an old, dead, spruce tree that was already lying on the ground.
I sawed branches, pried, cussed, and finally, desperate to free the tree from the grasp of the giant spruce, walked to the yard to get the old Ford tractor.
The trunk was finally freed. I was using the tractor to aid in cutting when some of the tines on the bucket became wedged under a large root. Behind me was a stump.
Simply put, I was between a root and hard place.
Oh Lord, sister-in-law, Debbie, who'd stopped by for an afternoon visit, and Sargie were walking across the pasture towards me. Debbie's husband, Pat, worked for years in the woods. They'd see the silly predicament I'd gotten myself into and would no doubt tease me, diminishing my delicate self esteem.
The logging skills of Maine and Alaskan woodcutters were at stake. It was a burden I didn't shoulder lightly.
I tried lifting the bucket. Wedged, it refused to move.
Backing up? No luck.
Finally, in desperation, I tripped the bucket and relieved just enough pressure to give the tractor some wiggle room.
The good name of northern wood cutters everywhere was saved. Having freed the tractor shortly after their arrival, I told the girls, those descendants of rough, tough, Upper Peninsula loggers, that they had brought me good luck.
In the same breath, I asked, "What's for lunch?"
We had a wonderful time with Debbie. Stopping at our local restaurant that specializes in smoked foods, sandwiches included, she brought lunch. Sargie and I enjoyed smoked macaroni sandwiches, pulled pork and pasta that is die for good. As Debbie describes it, "a heart attack between two slices of bread."
I disagree and look at a smoked macaroni sandwich as a well rounded food group unto its own.
Debbie had expressed interest in going for a walk. With Sargie saying she'd meet us along the way, Debbie and I took off for Pentoga Village and the Brule River bridge.
We talked and laughed as we walked and sure enough, Sargie soon joined us.
My watch bird, Jimmy, met us upon our arrival home. Though he was somewhat wary of Debbie, she soon had him eating out of her hand.
After drying, it was separated from the tenon, had the bottom sanded, finished, buffed, and called good 'nuff.
Most of the shop time was spent on the dog, carving, shaping, and sanding.
By afternoon's end, all the pieces, shaped and reassembled, began resembling a pooch.
Sargie and I had run to town earlier Monday morning where I left chains from both power saws to be sharpened and purchased two new ones. I usually sharpen my own chains, but after a while, a good, professional, sharpening makes them like brand news. It's two dollars well spent.
The next question was, would the old Ford tractor come to life. Having not been started and sitting out in the cold, the six volt system is often sluggish.
I needn't have worried. Just like its owner, it was slow, but steady. I soon had the old beast running, and loaded with both saws, took off for the south woods.
On the subject of wood, purchasing the cord of maple slabs last summer generated quite a bit of interest, mostly from those wondering if all the effort was worthwhile.
Simply put, the answer is yes.
The smaller pieces are used as kindling to get a fire going, yet they burn for quite sometime and give off no small amount of heat. The larger pieces are burned like normal firewood.
Sargie and I, both, agree that we'll process two bundles of slabs next summer. Between the indoor wood stove and outside wood furnace, plus the maple syrup boiler, it's well worth our time and effort.
Other than applying a final coat of finish to the bowl late yesterday afternoon, I did nothing in the shop. It's ready to separate from the tenon and have the bottom finished.
