Clearing Fields

This summer has been a whirlwind of activity on the farm.  The men have been busy with tobacco, (which is beginning to bloom), lots of hay, cattle to work, fencing, and numerous small chores, as well as their day jobs.  I've been blessed (?) with a bountiful garden and a yard that just keeps growing.  In between chores we have entertained the grandkids and, of course, supervised the remodeling project.  This project, which was supposed to be done in three or four weeks looks like it might take years.  The fun part is that the contractor on my project is my son, who literally has me over a barrel when he needs to take off for farm chores.  How can I argue with tobacco setting or hay cutting?  I think the end is in sight but who knows....?

Hubby and son are busy now trying to clean up a recently rented farm.  The farm is fairly remote and abounds with wildlife.  Every trip is highlighted with sightings of deer and turkeys as well as smaller wildlife.  The farm has been left fallow for several years so a lot of the time they are clearing brush, opening up fields and cleaning up in general. 

This morning our son stopped by to catch me up on the latest adventures in the "wilderness".  It seems that one of the fields they are trying to mow has a steep drop off on one side.  Adding to the problem is a downed tree that necessitates a swing down the hillside to circumnavigate it.  Son decided that he would hook a chain to it to drag it out of the way.  Approaching the trunk of the tree he dubiously looked at the weeds and brush piled around it, thinking what a wonderful place it would be for a snake to hide.  Using a long branch he gingerly pushed the log chain under the trunk and fished it out the other side.  Soon he had the chain hooked up to the truck and was dragging the tree out of the way.  That problem was solved.

Now he was feeling confident of his clearing abilities and decided to attack a huge limb that was threatening to crash into the cab of his tractor as he mowed.  The limb in question was just over his head, too far to reach with the chain saw from the ground.  He had decided that he would pull the truck up under the limb to stand on and then, hopefully, drop the limb behind the tailgate.  About that time Hubby arrived to offer his opinion.  "NO!"  he shouted.  Hubby tends to think that loudness is necessary in dealing with problems.  "Haven't you seen that commercial where the neighbor drops the limb on the car!  Think of what it would do to the truck!"  So moaned the insurance agent who has paid for all too many careless accidents.  "Well, what do you suggest?' queried son. 

Studying the situation, Hubby finally decided that the solution was for son to climb up on the limb and then cut the limb off.  At this point in the story I am trying to stifle hysterical giggles.  "I hope you didn't plan on facing the tree when you cut it" I choked.  Giving me a scornful glance son continued with his story.

As he was sitting on the limb, scoping out the potential disasters, he was planning on his escape plan.  "I had figured", he explained, " that if it went sour I would throw the chainsaw and just jump."  Having decided that he began to saw the limb in little chunks.   The limb cooperated with obliging creaks, groans, snaps and sags.  With the next bite of the saw he reached a soft, pithy center of the limb.  About that time he noticed that the pithy center was home to a huge number of ants who were frantically making their escape toward the trunk of the tree.  Unfortunately, son was sitting on the limb between them and safety.  Looking down at his lap and the approaching hoards of tiny insects intent on going over or through him,  he hurriedly clambered up and out of their way.  Now he was straddled the limb with one foot lodged in a crotch in the tree and the other gingerly perched on the limb.  Reaching out he makes another swipe at the limb with the chainsaw.  More groaning, snapping and popping.  Another bite of the saw.  More groaning and snapping.  Finally the limb gives a last pop and crashes to the ground.  Son scrambles after, frantically brushing ants from his legs and feet.

Hubby approaches from his position of safety, where he had been leaning on the fender of the truck.  "You know son", he muses, "You might have been better off using the truck to reach that limb after all."

Choking back giggles I reflect that farmers must have a whole herd of guardian angels that work night and day just to keep them out of trouble!