Yard trees and tramp metal go together like, well, two things that are inseparable. I use a metal detector when I suspect there is metal lurking. Problem is the metal is often embedded in the log deeper than the metal detector can detect. Maybe it is time for a post about tramp metal and other objects I have found in trees.
That's how one winds a blade. Simple move - foot on the center, a third in either hand, twist, bada bing - into the box with it. To unwrap - reverse that process.
The worrisome part was dude running his chainsaw at shoulder height or higher, burying the tip in the log - that is truly death lurking. I saw he was trying to saw parallel to the bark, which is good, but he was octagonalising the log - why? *signs 'Y' from his forehead* Due to the limited throat depth on his band saw. Nice figure, that's for sure. Nothing better than a highly figured maple log. Beauty lurking.
He could have had nice wide boards. Then divide them if needed. But instead he ends up with more narrow ones.
Did he want the patterns from another angle or what?
Maybe he sees little use for wide boards. Maybe he's thinking they can be glued to make wide ones easily as wide ones can be sawed to make narrow ones.
This vexed me because I felt he was wasting the thing that makes the huge tree trunk valued more than regular tree trunks.
And I can live without the life-lessons of not giving up.
Yesterday I wrote an email to a long lost friend.
He moved suddenly and left only his Apple email as contact.
Then never responded.
For years.
Then he suddenly did respond. As if there hadn't been any gap.
I told him about cooking at high altitude and using pressure pots to overcome the difficulty.
I mentioned one incident in one condominium in Breckenridge owned by someone he knows.
Who died.
So did his wife.
So did his second wife.
But that wasn't the only condominium in Breckenridge were cooked things with high altitude difficulty.
The Tamerisk condominiums for example. Joe owned one. And we cooked there. The view from his vaulted windows were the bases of the pine trees outside.
Joe's dead.
And so is his wife.
My parents owned the unit above Joe. We cooked there with difficulty of High Altitude. The view from their vaulted windows were the middle of the same group of pine trees outside.
My parents are both dead.
Uncle Brad, the Texas oilman owned the two condominiums above Joe's and my parents. Actually, he owned the whole building but lived in the top two on that side. We never cooked there because his place was like a museum and you don't cook in museums. The view from his vaulted windows was the tops of the same group of pine trees outside.
Uncle Brad died.
So did his wife.
Larry owned a 3-story house up the hill on the Dillion side of town. And we cooked dinners and breakfasts there. The view from all the windows were pine trees all over the place.
Larry is dead.
So is his wife.
And I look back at that time. I see all the people associated with all of those places, and I see myself there. I see myself cooking with difficulty of high altitude. And I see the trees outside. I walk among the trees. And all the people who went up there are all dead except two others and me.
And the two others are not looking very good at all. They're both fifteen years my senior. And they're both f'k'n messes. Both traveling like maniacs to cram in as much as possible before they die.
And the earlier version of me back then in those places cannot even imagine all those condominiums and houses being sold. And all those people, owners and visitors, skiers, and people just coming and going that we cooked for, all dead.
D E D DED.
And I look to the heavens and ask,
"How does this even happen?"
And I find myself a bit sad all over again.
And feeling as genuine survivor.
On a planet that claims everyone's life.
Then the sawyer guy admonishes in all seriousness,
As someone with something terribly important to impart.
"Never give up."
And I'm all, "W-h-a-a-a-a-a-t ?
talk to the hand.
Tell that to your little kid running around.
And to your dog that you don't even take with you into your forklift.
12 comments:
First thing we do let's Stihl all the sawyers.
Except for Tom!
Yard trees and tramp metal go together like, well, two things that are inseparable. I use a metal detector when I suspect there is metal lurking. Problem is the metal is often embedded in the log deeper than the metal detector can detect. Maybe it is time for a post about tramp metal and other objects I have found in trees.
Maybe it is time for a post about tramp metal and other objects I have found in trees.
Will the Tramp be about a Lady or Abroad?
Nailed or embedded?
When you've got good wood you've got to work it fast
You are lit today, chick. That'd be an interesting post SG.
When the guy folds his band saw blade in thirds I freaked the f out.
One wrong move and schwing beheaded.
I watched that part twice. To be freaked out twice.
That's how one winds a blade. Simple move - foot on the center, a third in either hand, twist, bada bing - into the box with it. To unwrap - reverse that process.
The worrisome part was dude running his chainsaw at shoulder height or higher, burying the tip in the log - that is truly death lurking. I saw he was trying to saw parallel to the bark, which is good, but he was octagonalising the log - why? *signs 'Y' from his forehead* Due to the limited throat depth on his band saw. Nice figure, that's for sure. Nothing better than a highly figured maple log. Beauty lurking.
Tramps are ubiquitous! Where's mine?
Why *from forehead* did he keep doing that?
He could have had nice wide boards. Then divide them if needed. But instead he ends up with more narrow ones.
Did he want the patterns from another angle or what?
Maybe he sees little use for wide boards. Maybe he's thinking they can be glued to make wide ones easily as wide ones can be sawed to make narrow ones.
This vexed me because I felt he was wasting the thing that makes the huge tree trunk valued more than regular tree trunks.
And I can live without the life-lessons of not giving up.
Yesterday I wrote an email to a long lost friend.
He moved suddenly and left only his Apple email as contact.
Then never responded.
For years.
Then he suddenly did respond. As if there hadn't been any gap.
I told him about cooking at high altitude and using pressure pots to overcome the difficulty.
I mentioned one incident in one condominium in Breckenridge owned by someone he knows.
Who died.
So did his wife.
So did his second wife.
But that wasn't the only condominium in Breckenridge were cooked things with high altitude difficulty.
The Tamerisk condominiums for example. Joe owned one. And we cooked there. The view from his vaulted windows were the bases of the pine trees outside.
Joe's dead.
And so is his wife.
My parents owned the unit above Joe. We cooked there with difficulty of High Altitude. The view from their vaulted windows were the middle of the same group of pine trees outside.
My parents are both dead.
Uncle Brad, the Texas oilman owned the two condominiums above Joe's and my parents. Actually, he owned the whole building but lived in the top two on that side. We never cooked there because his place was like a museum and you don't cook in museums. The view from his vaulted windows was the tops of the same group of pine trees outside.
Uncle Brad died.
So did his wife.
Larry owned a 3-story house up the hill on the Dillion side of town. And we cooked dinners and breakfasts there. The view from all the windows were pine trees all over the place.
Larry is dead.
So is his wife.
And I look back at that time. I see all the people associated with all of those places, and I see myself there. I see myself cooking with difficulty of high altitude. And I see the trees outside. I walk among the trees. And all the people who went up there are all dead except two others and me.
And the two others are not looking very good at all. They're both fifteen years my senior. And they're both f'k'n messes. Both traveling like maniacs to cram in as much as possible before they die.
And the earlier version of me back then in those places cannot even imagine all those condominiums and houses being sold. And all those people, owners and visitors, skiers, and people just coming and going that we cooked for, all dead.
D
E
D
DED.
And I look to the heavens and ask,
"How does this even happen?"
And I find myself a bit sad all over again.
And feeling as genuine survivor.
On a planet that claims everyone's life.
Then the sawyer guy admonishes in all seriousness,
As someone with something terribly important to impart.
"Never give up."
And I'm all, "W-h-a-a-a-a-a-t ?
talk to the hand.
Tell that to your little kid running around.
And to your dog that you don't even take with you into your forklift.
And speaking of lifting
Do you even lift?
Because you look a tad overweight.
boing biong boi...
Come on!
Let me jiggle your fat."
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