Sunday, January 7, 2018

Still raining, baking day, remembering a falling tree

It’s still rainy out. The rain has drenched the countryside. I go for walks in my slicker and boots, and Auguste is perpectually muddy. (Let’s not talk about my floors…)I have been cooking all day - two chickens, three cakes - not for me - for my husband who is off to a hunt tomorrow, where everyone brings something for a picnic. My son Sebi will be there too, for his first hunt. I am staying home cozy, and will hopefully spend the day reading, with a pot of tea by my side, and a warm shawl over my shoulders, because tomorrow I have the day off, and I intend to be a hedonist!
The weather made me think of a few years ago, when a friend and I went for a lovely walk in a nearby woods. At that time, Rusty was alive, and we would hitch Rusty to Auguste so he couldn't run away.
We saw deer bounding through the trees, (but Auguste and Rusty were tied together so Auguste wouldn’t go running after the deer either, although he whined and pulled at the leash - Rusty just say down and yawned.) We were in a public domain forest, which means the paths and sandy roads through it are kept up, and the trees are constantly being pruned and checked. As we rounded a corner, we saw a lumberjack’s truck, heard the whine of a chainsaw, and saw a lumberjack crouched at the base of a huge tree. We were about to go forward, but prudence held us back. Which way was the tree going to fall? We called out, but the lumberjack was wearing ear-muffs and couldn’t hear us.
We decided the best thing would be to wait near the truck. He wouldn’t make the tree fall and crush his truck, would he? Just as we reached the truck, the tree gave a huge crack and fell – right across the path we’d been standing upon.
I’d never seen a tree that size fall. It fell in slow motion at first, then suddenly swooshed down. The sound was incredible, and the ground shook as it hit, or perhaps it was just my imagination. But it seemed as that giant fell, the forest held its breath and then let it out with a rush of whipping branches and crackling wood.
The lumberjack looked up, saw us, and gave a start. He turned a bit pale, poor guy. I don’t think he expected to see anyone that day. He told us it was a good thing we had our dogs on the leads, as there was a family of wild boar with small babies nearby. He’d seen them as he’d driven up. If the dogs had chased them, the mother would have attacked the dogs.
We clambored over the fallen tree on our way back home. It was dead – pocked with holes, and soggy with the rain.

1 comment:

  1. If a tree falls in the forest but the lumberjack is wearing ear- protectors, does it make a sound?

    ReplyDelete

Picasso's Lovers by Jean Mackin

  This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions . Jeanne Mackin will award a randomly drawn winner a $25 Am...