Sent Sunday, January 4, 2009. This was not written by Dad, but rather by Clint (my brother). But it’s about Dad so I thought it would be nice to post it here.
I wanted to share a little story with you all that happened to me this weekend.
I have recently installed a fireplace in my house, and seeing how I did not do this until a month or so ago, I am a little behind on getting my firewood. So, I was out in the woods by myself cutting firewood. Now keep in mind I have been doing this all my life. As soon as I said Dada for the first time, my dad put a hat, coat, and boots on me and made me drive the old Jeep on the hill to help him with firewood.
Now I am cutting a tree up and I am sweating and my back is barking and the chain saw is getting heavier, I decided to take a break and carry the wood that I have cut to the truck. I was stacking the wood as best I could so to fit as much as I could on the truck, when I started laughing out loud.
I know you are thinking, “What is so funny in the middle of the woods by yourself?”
Well, I got thinking back to when I was young and helping Mom and Dad with firewood and as I was carrying wood to the truck thinking that all Dad had to do was cut the wood and we had to carry all the wood to the Jeep. He kinda got off easy just cutting and we did all the heavy lifting. I also remember thinking that when I got old and had to do firewood for myself, I would not stack the firewood, I would just throw it in the truck and when it was full I would be done for the day.
Now here I was taking a break from “just cutting the wood” to carry the wood to the truck and I wasn’t just throwing the wood in, I was stacking it! Now on my 35th birthday I am doing things the way I watched my dad do it for all those years.
I guess he wasn’t getting off easy, and there really was a good reason we had to stack the wood in the Old yella Jeep.
Tags: Firewood
January 25, 2009 at 11:17 pm |
Clint, that tale certainly caused me to remember winter days when a wood pile was the main source heat in a huge barn of a house in which your father matured to manhood. I think I would have liked to have watched its demolition when it was razed to the ground to make way for a new structure that your father’s friend and neighbor Jim … can’t remember his last name … built for himself and his wife. Your grandfather Carl came close to laming himself one winter when the chainsaw slipped and bit into his knee. Did you know that one time he came into the house with his scalp laid open by a bullet from someone shooting during deer season, and another time fell from the top of the hay track inside the barn? Fortunately, he hit a beam on his way down breaking his arm but keeping him from killing himself. More than one farmer has been killed having his clothing caught in the “take off bar” of the tractor, or whatever its called. Your grandfather was able to salvage enough of his clothing to allow him to walk home with at least a small amount of modesty. I came close to fainting.