We’re having a lot of old, big, dead trees removed from the property today. Last fall a large branch fell and missed Banjo Man’s head by only a few feet–it was a lucky miss for all of us. And definitely a sign that we needed to get rid of the dead wood.
And then there was this, last March, remember?
Banjo Man says it feels like Christmas morning. There are four young men here and they haven’t stopped moving since 8 AM. I’ve been sitting here at the window, drinking coffee and watching the limbs fall and the boys dragging them off to the wood chipper.
It brings back memories of weekend mornings in Idaho when Banjo Man would head up to the woods to get firewood. I was always so glad I wasn’t a man. I liked my job–watching the children, making bread, cooking up a stew. In other words, staying home. Staying indoors. Staying warm.
Banjo Man never said, “You need to help get your share of the firewood,” and I never said, “It’s your turn to make the bread dough.”
Oh, he did teach me how to operate the dozer. And I shoved my share of wood into the wood stove to keep the house warm. I shoveled a lot of snow (we had 13 steps up the hill to the road and Banjo Man was often away on business), which I thoroughly enjoyed.
But I was always happier in the kitchen while the “men folk” were off doing the things that made them happy.
So for old time’s sake I’m going to make a big pot of chili, just in case the young men didn’t pack lunches.
Old habits die hard.