WRAPPING UP SUMMER

The spruce bark beetles have done a lot of damage around here and three huge, mature spruce absolutely needed to be taken down before they fell on the building where my friend Julie lives.   Because they were so close to the building, I called a professional logger in to do the job.

The spruce right behind the house need to come down before the wind blows them down.

Too close for comfort.

Julie and I were standing by with truck and trailer to get  the slash out of the way as Chad Leaders felled the trees.    

The first, and largest tree is down and Chad (in the blue hard hat) is limbing it.

The first load of six  on the way to the brush dump site.

The top of the tree went across the driveway and Chad cut it to length there.

He hooked a chain on the trunk and dragged the tree out of the forest, where he bucked it up.

Those big rounds?   I could barely roll them across the grass.

Another load on its way.

Chad falls the last of the three trees.

Attired in my finest work cloths.   Loose fitting (too big) with a sweat band and visor.

I am astonished at the sheer size of the largest tree's stump.   It is immense for this part of Alaska.

Chad finished up and Julie and I got me set up for splitting wood, even though we were both wiped out after loading, hauling, and unloading six loads of slash.  I can no longer pull the cord with enough authority to get the splitter started, so Julie started it (first pull of course) and left me to my fun.

I split a trailer load, which measured almost 3/4 of a cord once I got it stacked in the woodshed the next morning.

While all this was going on, Julie spotted a couple mushrooms growing on a birch branch 12 to 15 feet off the ground.

The mushrooms are on the branch to the left the center of the photo.

The next day, I got another trailer load of wood split and stacked in the shed.

That evening I posted a notice in the Moose Pass Community Facebook page asking for help with the logs I'd dragged home from a brush-dumping site.   I can no longer get my beloved chainsaw started or I would do it myself.

The morning of the third day of dealing with firewood arrived and JD,. Jen, and 10-year-old Ruby arrived  to help with the wood.  The saw started right up for JD and soon he was nearing the end of the project.   Jen helped by moving cut wood away, and placing logs for JD to saw.

Ruby loaded the smaller wood that didn't need splitting in the worn-out garden cart.

That cart is held together (barely) with plastic zip ties.

We took a break and I got to know the Boyles a bit better.   I enjoyed that very much.

With only a few more cuts to make, disaster struck.   My chainsaw was unable to run properly.   It had served me well for decades, but now it was giving up its last.

I went to the garage and got a different saw, one I call the Never -Start Easy- Start Stihl.   It's another pull-start tool that won't start for me.   

JD finished up and the three of them went on their way.   I went home for a break.   My shoulder joints were on fire and I was tired.   I took a three hour nap and then messaged Julie to see if she was home and could start the splitter for me.

Her message back:  "It's all split. Trailer is FULL and waiting for you."

ZOWIE!! Julie and Katy had split the remaining wood from the trees, which were the very largest rounds. And, they split the wood that JD and Jen had sawed to length.

To say I was thrilled is not doing it justice. I bounced with up to the woodshed and emptied the trailer-load.

I
I've unloaded about half of it.

The last and final day of this project, I ran my lawn mover over the areas where we had been working, bagging sawdust, chips, and tiny branches.   We had already raked, loaded, and hauled  the big stuff.

One final load of debris and some brush I cut along my driveway, and I was done with firewood and unsafe trees for the season.    Hopefully I now have enough wood for three to four winters.

All my profound thanks to Chad Leaders, Julie, Katie, JD, Jen, and Ruby.    I could not have done it without you.

Likewise to Barry for bringing me wood earlier in the summer and to Mary and Shawn Macdonald for splitting and stacking it.  

I get by with A LOT of help from my friends.

And I learned something:   The hardest part about not being able to do certain things any longer is admitting that to yourself.

Proving that I'm Not Stupid

 I listened to the voice of a friend on the phone and, after a pause, replied, "I would be stupid to turn that down.   Totally stupid!"

The friend, Mary, had just told me that she and her husband Shawn were going to come to my house and buck and split a large pile of spruce firewood. I had in my yard.

The very talented Shawn and his homemade fireweed handling tool.   Shawn is widely known as an artist who casts bronze items and owns a business called Bronze Ox.

I'll tell you, my first reaction was to prove that I WAS INDEED stupid and politely reply, "Oh, no.   Thank you so much but I can do it.    In fact, I like doing it."

I came to my senses and, while I can do it and like doing it, who was I kidding?   So, I gushed all over myself at her wonderful offer and there they were on the appointed day.

First a couple cords of logs had to be cut to size.   Then those lengths split and hauled to the woodshed and stacked.

Mary wears a lot more safety devices that I do.   For me, a pair of gloves and ear plugs.

I tried to help for a while by picking out the smaller pieces that didn't need to be split, but after a while I was getting in the way of their well times teamwork.

Mary is a retired RN.

Into the woodshed and stacked!!!

SO, I jacked up the lawn mower so I could air a flat tire and went off to mow the various lawns around here.

So blessed to have such thoughtful neighbors as friends.

Rolling through November

I tried to cover my firewood-to-be pile with a 16x20 foot tarp today.   It's a bit small.

Looking toward the back of the stack.

The rest of the stck.

And from the front towards the back.

That is what has been occupying my days and using all my energy lately.   The electric company sent a contractor in to clear all trees and overhanging branches from its easements.   The cut down a number of trees along my property and in front of my neighbors, who kindly said I could have their felled trees.


In the mean time, bald eagles have gathered down the road at Tern Lake where silver salmon are spawning and dying. 

In all the years I have been around Tern Lake, I always looked to this branch that sticks out over from the trees at left, hoping to see an eagle perched on it.   I've seen many mew gulls, magpies, and ravens there, but never until Monday did I see the eagle!

And the moon rise a couple nights ago.

Why, yes. There has been a slowdown...

If you follow along here, you have perhaps noticed a slowdown in The Kenya Journals as well as everything else I post here.

Here's the reason:

Just three miles from my home, this road leads to treasure.

A small part of the decked timber the Forest Service has made available for firewood.

The other side of the decked timber/

1.  

All you need is a free permit from the Forest Service.   And energy.   Lots of energy.

This is hemlock.   Next to birch, it's the heaviest wood available in Southcentral Alaska.

Because of its density, is has 22 million BTUs per cord.   Only birch is higher, with 23 million BTUs per cord.

My trusty 024 Stihl saw, still running strong.    I have a Stihl 250 Easy-Start, but it won't.   Start, that is.

Loading the truck the first day I went cutting.

  

My sports equipment.

The beginning of the three cords I"m allowed.   Not much, but DANG this wood is heavy.

I went back for more yesterday:

It's still a little pile, but it's nearing a half cord.   Two and a half cords to go....

You know what?    I just thought of a way to make this post SHORT so I can get back to cutting wood!   All I have to do is post this post-firewood-cutting photo:

On a Day when the Inner Ditz is Loose, Steve Comes to the Rescue

This is Steve.

This is Steve's truck, not mine.   I have a 2001 Dodge Dakota, a mid-sized pickup.

On a day when I should have stayed in the house and tried not to hurt myself or do major damage  to anything in the house, at a time when my inner DITZ (as in “ditzy”) is on full display and successfully avoiding my feeble attempts to keep her in check, and when I really, really shouldn’t have attempted to cut a load of firewood, Steve saved my bacon, and did a lot more.

Steve to the Rescue.   It’s a story that perhaps began yesterday.  I say “perhaps” because I try to forget about the times my DITZ is loose to discombobulate my very existence. 

So, yesterday I cut up a rack of spareribs and put them in the crock pot, anticipating a tasty dinner when I returned from picking up litter.   When I got home, I could smell the scent of cooking pork as I removed my boots and changed into clean clothing in the garage.

Oddly, I couldn’t detect the luscious aroma of Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce, and I realized that I didn’t recall pouring the sauce over the meat.  As I headed to the kitchen, I also couldn’t remember putting the lid on the crock pot.  And so it was.   No sauce, no lid, no ribs for dinner.  I turned the pot to low and let the ribs cook all night.

I should have known better.  Once the DITZ is loose, my attempts as being a responsible, capable adult come to naught.   Nonetheless.

I unloaded the litter-picking paraphernalia from the truck and loaded the firewood-cutting paraphernalia.  Off I went, a few miles up the highway to where the US Forest Service has made decks of timber available for firewood.

I found some wood I wanted and started cutting.   A rain shower passed through and I went to the truck and closed the windows, successfully locking my truck keys IN the truck when I closed the door.   I looked at the fellow cutting across the dirt road from me and begged a ride to my house to get my spare keys.

I didn’t tell him, but I also needed to get a right-hand glove as I’d managed to bring two left-hand gloves.  

We introduced ourselves and chatted on the way.   His name is Steve and he lives about a mile from me, though we’d never before met.   He's a geologist with the USFS.  Then we returned to the decks of timber and went to work.

I cut a bunch of hemlock (a heavy wood compared to spruce).  Steve must have seen me struggling to load my truck.

I’ll make this short.   He told me to pull down where he’d been cutting and finished loading my truck.  I loaded the smaller wood and he did the heavy-lifting.

I started for home to unload the truck and half-way there, I remembered that I’d put the spare keys on a narrow ledge where the cap on the truck’s bed met the truck wall.   I stopped and looked.   No keys!   I’d lost the spare keys.

When I reached home, I unloaded the truck, all the while bemoaning the expense of replacing the keys and the all-important electronic fob.   As I threw out the final piece, I looked down and there were the keys, nicely nestled in the sawdust in the truck bed.

Back at the wood-cutting site, Steve was loading his own ¾-ton truck with wood that he then drove to my house and unloaded for me!  

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said.

“Those two words are enough,” he said.   “But I’ll tell you what.  You pick up the highway litter than I don’t and we’ll call it even.”

“Let me know when you want another load of wood,” he said, giving me his phone number.

I wonder if Steve always helps ditzy old women, but I’m sure glad he helped this one.

PS:    If there's one thing I'm really, really good at, it's making messes and getting dirty.

Sawdust all over my bottle of tea.

What the well-dressed ditzy old woman wears.