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7 & 1/2 Acres |
2004-10-03 - 10:30 a.m. Simply, it is a beautiful day. It's overcast and slightly cool. The grass was heavy with wet this morning. I raced the dogs for persimmons. I managed a handful wrapped with three big hickory leaves. This after stewing a bit on the front porch, simmering down the want to kill Basho. He busted out a pane on the french door and I could of murdered him for adding one more thing to my list. It was this list that got me up out of bed this morning--the drum of TO DOs that yanked me from sleep. TO DOs with the clock ticking and no time for the work. We worked yesterday. Three hours and eighteen minutes of tree time plus three hours on the road there and back. The tree work is good. Seems I say this often. The work itself, I do love. I'm good at it. I enjoy the difficulty of it. The other day, dragging brush or pulling the cart loaded with logs up this hill--each time Travis and I struggling with the weight of our load. Having to do it over and over, legs burning. Having to work together with the biggest logs and get a running start. Up this hill, through this gate, then over to the road where the grapple truck could then pick the logs up. There is something very clean in the exertion of this. This work is very pure. I think of Gary Synder and his poems about logging or haiku by Basho, Issa, Busson. Felling a tree Coolness: Oh snail It is the repetiveness of action but the immediate attention of exertion that I think appeals to me so much. In the doing of this work, I am always present in the moment and this is good. It is peaceful and nourishing. It's the drive home that I have time for angst. It is being at home that I worry. It is at home that my patience is so thin, that my load is so heavy. The computer froze while I was typing these haiku and I about lost it. Three times today. The pane of glass, when Basho ran into my foot, and this computer freezing. I'm sitting here trying to write about peace and serenity and I'm on the edge of being set off. My fuse isn't short--it's done burnt. I'm this wierd mix of peace and explosion. Shit ain't right. So, I'm going to take the last week of Oct. off to work here at this house. The whole week and I'm putting away the cell phone and disconnecting our land line. Will is going to have to float on his own. That's all there is to it. I feel like a damn primadonna about it but I've got to get this shit done. We've also got to dedicate a day to safety. I about sent Travis to the hospital yesterday when he walked under me as I was about to toss a log. He was so tired he wasn't paying a lick of attention. There is no exaggeration here--there can be no procrastination. Alright--I'm stressed again. Fuck this shit. I'm going to go sit in the bedroom and look out the back door. The end.
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