Up Moses Creek: ‘Hit them hard!’
A man who lives up Caney Fork once told me he didn’t split red oak for firewood because its sap smelled like urine. He called it “piss oak.” His remark came back to me one day in September while I stood in my woodlot filling my lungs with the odor from a ton of freshly bucked-up red oak waiting to be split, and all I can say is that one man’s stench is another’s sweet aroma.
Up Moses Creek: Walking the log
I’d no sooner opened my book of Robert Frost’s poetry to start the morning right when Neighbor J drove up. A wind had downed trees in his pasture, and he was sawing one up when his chainsaw had gotten pinched — “Can you help me get it out?” A “pinch” happens when the tree trunk suddenly sags or shifts, clamping the saw bar tight in the kerf like gigantic wooden jaws.
Up Moses Creek: 2 a.m.
A sudden, loud crack came through the open bedroom window, startling me out of sleep — “What was THAT?” Then came a cascade of pops and snaps that told me a tree was falling, a big tree, to judge by how long the noise lasted. Some tall wooden thing weighing many tons had just crashed.
