The Tree, Part Two

The Tree on 03/31/11

"You must chop down the mightiest tree in the forest with...a herring!"

This line from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail kept running through my head.  I was attempting to use a fifteen-inch hand saw to break down an eighteen foot long, three and a half foot wide section of The Tree that was lying at an angle across the back yard.


I'd been gone all weekend.  The spring weather had been gorgeous.  When I got home late Sunday afternoon, it was in the mid-80's and the high winds we'd had all day were beginning to die down.


In the garage, juggling my backpack and overnight bag, I opened the door that leads to the back of the house.  Tanner raced out ahead of me as usual, then stopped immediately.  Distracted, I nearly tripped over him before I looked up.  Something was different.  Five feet in front of us, backlit by the late afternoon sun slanting down over the top of the fence, was a seven- or eight-foot wall of leafy greenness that hadn't been there when we left Saturday morning.


'Holy crap,' I muttered.  I'd only posted about The Tree in this blog two days before, now a great hunk of it was lying on the ground.  I stepped onto the deck to set my things on the patio table.  Went back down for a closer look.


Somehow the section of Tree that fell missed the corner of the garage.  It landed with the top-most ivy limbs bunched up against the deck railing, but didn't land on the deck either.  Lucky.


I walked the length of the log, noting a four-inch knothole and a bird nest near what had been the top.  My inspection was interrupted by a sparrow.  He chattered at me from the end of the deck railing, incensed that his home was now lying horizontal on the ground.  'I'd be upset, too,' I told him, thinking of all the humans around the world who have lost their homes recently due to natural disasters.  It must be equally shocking to wildlife when their homes disappear.


Turning my attention to the log once more, I ran my hand across the end that had separated from The Tree.  The wood, encased in bark and shot through with hairlike tentacles from the ivy roots, was pulpy.  It crumbled away at my touch.  There was no sign of the rings normally seen on the interior of a tree.  The breeze picked up again.  I looked at The Tree, beyond it to the clear sky overhead.  The overnight forecast called for more wind and thunderstorms.  If I waited to take care of this, the log would become soggy and I'd have to wait for it to dry out.  I still had a couple hours of daylight left.  At the very least I could remove all the limbs and stack them beside the garage.       


I could have called the man who mows our lawn and asked him to bring his chain saw over.  Half an hour with a chain saw, and I'd have had a nice stack of firewood.  But I'm my dad's daughter.  Dad relished the labor involved in working with his hands at small tasks around the house and yard.  He didn't believe in using power tools when the job could be done without them, in twice the time and with ten times the effort.


So I went inside and changed clothes.  Came out again to cast about in the garage for tools.  I came up with the hand saw.  The saw would be adequate for the English ivy limbs.  After that I'd have to see.


Cutting up the log proved to be a fairly simple task.  None of the ivy branches were any bigger around than my wrist and the saw, barely used, was sharp.  The bark offered slightly more resistance.  I was up for the challenge.  It was satisfying, this work.  I was enjoying myself.  The log-dismantling strategy I devised was working:  Cut the log into small sections, detach as many of the larger ivy roots as possible, hack my way through the bark, and get into the center from there.


By the time I quit Sunday night, it was dark and I'd been working steadily for a little more than two hours.  Already I'd broken down and removed a six-foot section of the trunk.  The rest of this week I've been chipping away at it.  The rains we got Sunday night soaked through just enough to wet the bark, dulling the saw blade somewhat and slowing my progress.  


I'm down to a four-foot section that vees at the end, plus an eight foot section of bark I haven't been able to get through because it's against the ground.  Today, my neighbor saw me cutting down the branches and moving them closer to the alley for collection by the city workers.  He brought me a large pruner tool that cut through the branches like a hot knife through butter.


Later he stopped by again to look over the remains of the log.  He offered to bring his chain saw tomorrow and finish cutting up the last of the log for me.  I accepted his offer gratefully, and put my herring hand saw away.

The Tree on 04/03/11

Tanner in his new role as site superintendent.