We decided a couple of dead trees had to come down before the fence could go up. And by “we,” I mean Mariah held a strategic planning meeting with herself and assigned me the action items. It’s amazing how “our project” always seems to end with my lower back filing an HR complaint.
The day was already off to a strong start.
My handyman decided talking on the phone was a higher calling than digging post holes. When I pointed out that shoveling gravel isn’t exactly splitting the atom, he chose to get into a pissing match with the guy signing the checks.
Interesting career strategy.
No hard feelings.
Note to self: Add another name to the Wall of Fallen Handymen. At this point I’m going to need a bigger wall.
Anyway…
I fire up the chainsaw.
Cut.
Cut.
Crack.
The tree starts leaning.
I’m feeling pretty good. Ten minutes into this farm thing and I’m basically Paul Bunyan with a Lowe’s rewards card.
Then…
Nothing.
The tree just… stops.
You know what nobody tells you? Trees have alliances. They’ve been standing next to each other for eighty years. They’re basically old Italian guys in lawn chairs. One starts to fall and the other two go, “Whoa… not today, Tony. We got ya.”
Now my chainsaw is pinched tighter than a Pittsburgh grandmother squeezing the cheeks of a baby she met thirty seconds ago.
No problem.
Every experienced professional knows the solution to one stuck chainsaw is…
…a second chainsaw.
Out comes the pole saw.
Cut.
Cut.
WHAP!
The chain flies off.
Even my equipment has started quiet quitting.
Exhibit A: the chain, mid-resignation. Even my equipment has started quiet quitting.
Then I reach down and grab the guide bar.
Apparently, after spinning at a few thousand RPM while chewing through hardwood, the metal gets hot enough to sear a steak.
Good to know.
Paper cuts hurt.
Touching a hot chainsaw bar hurts.
Having a seventy-foot tree fall on you? That’s how the modern remake of The Wizard of Oz: Homestead Edition begins. Instead of a house landing on the witch, it’s just me under an oak while my fiancée tells people, “He really was trying his best.”
Then I looked up.
The tree wasn’t balanced.
It wasn’t wedged.
It was being held hostage by vines.
Forty feet of them.
These aren’t vines.
They’re forest zip ties.
Nature looked at this tree and said, “Nah… let’s leave this one suspended over his future fence line. It’ll be funny.”
Exhibit B: the hostage situation. Forty feet of forest zip ties, one future fence line, zero urgency.
So now I’ve got a full-grown tree hanging in midair like Wile E. Coyote hasn’t looked down yet. Every gust of wind is just the universe spinning the Wheel of Misfortune to see if today is my day.
The replacement chain arrives tomorrow.
The tree still hasn’t submitted its resignation.
So now I’m off to finish my workday, log into my college lecture tonight, and then come back outside so Mother Nature can continue teaching the only class I’m currently failing.
One serious question. Does the local community college offer “Tree Removal for People Who’d Like to Stay Alive?” Because I clearly have no idea what I’m doing, and this whole situation is getting just sketchy enough that I’d like someone with a certificate to explain why I’m still standing. 🌲
If this made you laugh, snort, or feel better about your own decisions, consider supporting the nonsense — every dollar becomes hay, and the animals say thank you. Loudly. At 5 a.m.
