Fred B. Prepared
I always considered it insult to injury: a last name of "First" made more silly by the middle initial that is a verb. Fred be First. (Who be second?) Ha Ha. Well, buddies and buddettes, yesterday I be prepared, like a good Junior Woodchuck.
On my return from Radford, I chose to avoid the safe, sure route back to Goose Creek. Frances had passed over us and the rain had ended, but only after dropping more than four inches on SW Virginia. The safe way home, as it turns out, would have taken me only so far beyond Shawsville before I would have been forced to turn back. The Roanoke River covered the only road up the valley toward home, we learned later.
So it was a good choice, paradoxically, to come down the high side--the way home most prone to flooding (over the two low water concrete bridges) and to trees sliding down the steep banks to block the road. Once I was committed and heading down the steep road that descends into the creek gorge, I could tell there might be problems. The road was seriously washed out. I put the truck in 4-wheel-drive and took each bend slowly.
About half way in the deserted mile between the last house on the road above us and our place, I rounded a sharp curve and discovered a truck stopped in the road. The occupants--two men, one a neighbor I recognized--were standing at the front of the truck surveying a two-pronged oak lying across the road at a 45 degree angle--the base about 10 feet above the road, its top some 50 feet below in the raging muddy creek. As I turned off the engine and got out of the truck, they stared at the blockade as if a concentrated gaze would levitate the deadfall from their path.
"Kindly looks like you boys could use a chainsaw 'bout now" I said, in my best local dialect. I wasn't sure they'd recognize machismo if they stepped in it, but it was all over me: the smug haughtiness of one who, for once, had the tools he needed for Manly Work.
"You want me ta do it" asked my good neighbor, a backhoe operator who had excavated for our house addition and cleared the pines from our field. He sensed my hesitation: I was dressed for class, and a chainsaw can sling oil all over whatever britches you're wearing, not to mention the mud from the rainsoaked road. And that was not the only hindrance as I sized up the problem.
The way the tree was lying on a diagonal would put a lot of stress in the trunk--the chances of binding the bar were pretty good if a fella didn't undercut it just right; and when the main trunks were cut through, the roots up on the steep bank pulled loose of the ground could come sliding down the hillside into the road. Once the main trunk was on the road, there was a good risk of cutting through and hitting rocks with the chain. And, one of the prongs was liberally draped in live poison ivy.
"Nah. I got it" I said with mock confidence, having tallied the things in the "fools rush in" list above.
But soon I'd cut a 15 foot section from both trunks. My neighbor and his companion, both having just come from a funeral at the church on Daniels run and in their Sunday clothes, did their best to roll the large logs away so what little traffic comes down our road could get by. They were about to roll the logs down the embankment toward the creek when I stopped them.
"Hey why don't you just roll them over to the edge of the road. Somebody might be able to use those for firewood" I suggested. "And somebody might go home and change his clothes and be back for 'em in about a half hour."
And shure nuff, Fred B this very morning has five hundred pounds of solid oak in the back of his deer-battered old pickem-up truck. He'll cart the carcass around for a few days, show it off like a trophy--a windfall, a gift from Frances, just passing through. He'll remember her this winter as he watches glowing coals of her unintended largesse, a gift for those prepared to receive it. Thanks.
Comments
We just got dumped on last night here in central PA - lots of roads closed by flash flooding down in the valley, i gather. Haven't been all the way down our road yet to see if we have any trees to clear (we never go anywhere without a chainsaw!). But up here the stream is as loud as it is in March.
Posted by: Dave | September 9, 2004 9:32 PM
Ah. Here in Pensacola, Florida we didn't get nary a drop of rain, only a nice breeze. But our dear friends and former neighbors in Beaverdam, near Canton, North Carolina had the roof of the Methodist Church torn up and leaking, the high school football stadium under water, and even the Biltmore House theatened. As the old saying goes, "The sun don't shine on the same dog's ass every day." And here comes Ivan.
Posted by: BethW | September 9, 2004 10:12 PM
Man, you really did get dumped on. I kind of thought it'd just pass by, a false alarm. A small consolation to have the thrill of high creeks, but I'm glad Ma didn't get caught up in the fray any more than she did. Meanwhile, nothin' but blue skies and sunshine here in Vancouver, rare enough that great flocks of the city came outdoors and basked on the beach. Thinking of you parentals often...
Posted by: nate | September 10, 2004 1:28 AM
""Hey why don't you just roll them over to the edge of the road. Somebody might be able to use those for firewood" I suggested. "And somebody might go home and change his clothes and be back for 'em in about a half hour."
And shure nuff, Fred B this very morning has five hundred pounds of solid oak in the back of his deer-battered old pickem-up truck."
God helps those who help themselves, or something like that, eh?
LMAO! A great story! :-)
Posted by: Kiril | September 13, 2004 5:58 PM