Satisfaction by firewood
This a tree named Brent
Meet Brent, a tree that will disappear by the end of this story!
As I approached the fallen giant, the realization of the job at hand became apparent.
In this story, the fallen giant is a 20-foot tree I named “Brent”. Brent lived for 15 or so years in the backyard of one of my professors at WWU before succumbing to a freak wind storm; a common occurrence in the Bellingham area.
Upon first inspection of the tamed giant, Brent was one hell of a tree. Before sadly passing away, he must have been a great addition to the backyard while providing shade and peace to the passing animals. After losing his footing (or roots?) Brent became a haven for rabbits and smaller creatures to hide from the rain, wind, snow, and sunshine.
After shoving down a nasty green apple and a melted CLIFF bar, the work began. First, a trip to the neighbor-man Mike for his chainsaw was due. Entering his shed to get his chainsaw could be its own story; Mr. Mike has a shed that many men dream of having. Cluttered yet organized, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and just enough sunshine mixed with an old fluorescent bulb to not lose a nail in the shadows.
Before ripping the chainsaw on and scaring off any final wildlife that called Brent the tree home, 30 minutes were spent lopping off annoying limbs that were in the way. As a pile of limbs and twigs formed, so did the sweat on the brow. Of course, the day chosen to break this tree up for firewood was the hottest day of the year so far.
After enough limbs were stripped back and thinned out, out came the chainsaw.
BAM. All 9 amps in the small Portland chainsaw were fired up and ready to go. Brent was soon to become enough firewood for two homes for at least four seasons.
In all fairness, this job was accepted under the assumption that the tree would be sliced and diced with a proper gas-powered chainsaw with a little more gusto. The weaker the chainsaw, the more work is needed to cut. This was learned early and often.
Mr. Brent had a very strong core but offered relief in the form of occasional dry rot on his trunk. Feeling out for the dry rot proved to be the most efficient way to dismember the tree; when working with a chainsaw with less power than a Coleman pit bike, any soft or weak section of wood was considered a win.
Here’s an up close and personal view of the tree. Mangled, messy, and lots of fun to get rid of.
After about an hour of making cuts and pulling sections away from the scene of death, Brent slowly became less and less like the tree he once was. The wheelbarrow (also supplied by neighbor Mike) was filled every 20 minutes with new 1-2 foot chunks of firewood.
Once the wood pile became substantial and Brent had shrunk to about half his original size, lunch was well deserved. In my work bag were two stale bagels from the food pantry in the Journalism Department, black licorice, and another nasty green apple; only this time, that apple was the tastiest thing I had ever had.
The next three hours flew right by as the process of processing ol’ Brent had become a swift one. The process was as simple as:
Make a main cut as far down as you can go on the trunk of the tree
Pull that section out
Process that chunk into carriable and burnable pieces
Load the wheelbarrow
Unload the wheelbarrow
Repeat steps 1-5 until the tree is no longer
All was sunshine, sweat, and rainbows until the curse of the blackberries set in. Ol’ Brent had the clap, man! At the base of the downed tree was a healthy bush… of blackberries. Now - if it was blackberry season, any and all complaints would have been subsidized with delicious blackberries. But no, the devilish plant was just there to get in my way.
To conquer these blackberries, I stood on Brent’s lower section (sorry, Brent) and pitchforked the blackberries like a bowl of noodles.
Making this part of the story dramatic is quite ridiculous as it took me no more than five minutes to get the blackberries out of my way. But those little boogers scratched the hell out of my right arm so we’re keeping the dramatics IN.
Five hours in, and I am standing face to face with the bare trunk of the tree named Brent. With continued cutting and carrying the heavier pieces to the now hefty woodpile, the job was nearly complete.
I hate to sour the ending, but a decent chunk of our fallen brother Brent still lies in that backyard. Remember when I said he was a hard tree? The chainsaw I had onsite was not quite strong enough to cut the larger portions of the tree, resulting in a day cut short (pun intended).
Hey siri, play “Goodbye Stranger” by Supertramp.
I updated my mom on my adventure that day and was constantly met with, “Wow Sam, that is a lot of work.” I never felt like it was, though. After continuing to ponder on this, a realization was made.
This was a good deed done for someone I am very grateful for. Peggy Watt has been my academic advisor in the Journalism Department at WWU since last January. She has made my journey through the rigorous program more accessible and doable for me than it would have been without her guidance. I offered to help her with anything she needed in her yard or with general maintenance in her home if she felt like it was ever necessary.
So when I had the chance to get out to her home and pulverize a fallen tree for firewood, I took the job that same moment. Sweating through my shirt and wrangler jeans, getting sawdust caked on my steel-toe boots, and getting cut by the bloody blackberries was one big “thank you” to someone who deserved it.
Satisfaction - that is the emotion I felt as I drove off that day. Windows down, sunglasses on, and the classic “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me” by Warren Zevon blasting through my car speakers all while knowing that the tree named Brent was no more once and for all.
Special thanks to neighbor man Mike for the chainsaw and wheelbarrow.
