Last summer we kind of took a pass on yard work, between moving and my accident, it just wasn’t a priority. Recently we realized that between the long, hard winter and the pecking birds (Finley’s word for woodpeckers), the yard needed attention. Sean made it clear that he wanted to cut certain trees down and when I say that he wanted to cut them down, I mean that literally.
Saturday we put the girls down for a nap and gathered the necessary tools to cut down the trees. Jokes danced on the tip of my tongue, but with the exception of one little aside—
I stayed on task and what a task it was.
It is better told in pictures.
Here is the terminally-injured-by-pecking-birds Birch tree, with Sean at its base, saw-in-hand, and me on the other end of the rope. Dubious.
Here is the look he shot me as he prepared to kick down the tree. Still kind of dubious.
The look I sent back when he hollered, “Are you ready to run up the hill?”
These photos were immediately followed by grunting, pulling, cursing and
what I seriously feared was a torn right butt cheek (mine). Then this happened.
Let me just tell you, should you have any doubt, when a tree falls that you cut down yourself,
it makes a noise so frightening you yelp. And maybe pee just a tiny bit.
Seeing the state of the wood made me grateful we didn’t let a strong wind take the tree down when our girls might’ve been playing.
Curious fact #32 about me: I love stacking wood.
I mean I really, really love stacking wood.
Next up, making benches and stools out of the healthy bits of Birch we salvaged.