….in which our intrepid authoress shares the joys and torments of living off the beaten path (one of an occasional series)….
So we had this tree. A maple tree. An old, old maple tree. It has a diameter of about five feet, circumference maybe twenty feet around. This tree was home to billions and billions of tree-eating insects. My Beloved Husband was going to call a guy we know to cut it down for us, because that’s what you do when big old trees are varmint-riddled.
So the tree fell down a couple hours ago. Across the driveway. This meant our car was not going to get out of the driveway. Old dead trees are several tons heavier than they look.
What does one do in these situations, gentle reader?
Fire up the chainsaw and call a friend with a pick-up truck.
What is the role of the intrepid authoress?
Stay the heck out of the way, mostly. I picked up lots of bark. Tried to avoid poison ivy. I took pictures. I mused about the inevitability of rot and death, and renewed my loathing for most insects. (They crawled down my arms when I picked up wood.) And I said a prayer of gratitude that the tree did not fall on any people or cars, or at 5:30 tomorrow morning. The guys finished clearing the driveway just before sunset. It was exhausting work watching them. I am drained. I think I need to curl up in front of the fireplace, burning bug-free wood, and watch Monday Night football.