Exploring our new world
By Saturday afternoon,
the snow was a bit mushy on the bottom layers. Trees began to
shake themselves like wet dogs, tossing off their mantle of wet snow
and turning back up to face the sky. The cracks of falling limbs
and trees slowed and finally stopped, and Sunday morning I decided it
was time to explore our world.
I
borrowed Mark's knee-high over-boots, put on damp jeans over dry fleece
pants, and headed out to see what the outside world looked like.
I had to cross the downed power line, which I had skittishly steered
clear of for the last day even though it was coated in snow and Lucy,
Huckleberry, and a deer had all trotted across with no problems.
This time I was determined, though. So I tucked Lucy's leash over
her back and took a running leap across the white snake of wire hidden
under the snow.
Nothing happened.
Lucy, of course, trotted
over the wire behind me and waited for me to pick back up her
leash. We trudged down the driveway, past dozens of fallen tree
limbs. Some trees had ripped their whole root masses up out of
the wet soil and toppled over, making me laugh that I'd thought a
little leaf raking would do any damage to the forest compared to this
catastrophe.
The cars were, luckily,
branch-free, but the driveway between our parking area and the public
road hadn't fared so well. I counted seven full grown trees
toppled across the driveway and when I reached the main road, I knew we
would be stuck on the farm for a while. Two trees had collapsed
across the asphalt within sight and the road was unplowed. I
began to suspect that the electric company's estimate of giving us back
our power by Sunday was a pipe dream.
Stay tuned for part IV. Meanwhile, check out our microbusiness ebook.
This post is part of our Two Weeks Without Electricity series.
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About us: Anna Hess and Mark Hamilton spent over a decade living self-sufficiently in the mountains of Virginia before moving north to start over from scratch in the foothills of Ohio. They've experimented with permaculture, no-till gardening, trailersteading, home-based microbusinesses and much more, writing about their adventures in both blogs and books.
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Hey Everett
Thanks for the comment Everett
I sort of remember hearing about one of those classes being offered by the forest department, but I can't recall any details. It sounds like you've got all the protection gear that's called for. Not sure what would be the safest manner about your leg placement, I guess most things are made for right handed people...reminds me of Ned Flander's Lefttorium.
The best piece of advice I can think of is to take it slow and try to be as much in the moment as you've ever been. Bringing down a very big tree is dangerous, and I've found that and added safety element is to have someone standing behind you that can see the bigger picture....maybe with a tennis ball in her coat pocket to hit you with if they need to get your attention because once the ear protection is on and you're in the zone you really get focused in on that tree and not much else.
It's also important to know when you're chain needs to be sharpened and not try to force it to cut on a dull chain.
If you feel like a tree is too big and out of your league don't be afraid to admit it and call in an expert. You'll probably learn a lot if you can find someone in your area.
I would close by suggesting some sort of recognition of the tree and it's sacrifice just before you end it's life. This will help to pull you closer to the present and perhaps make you feel a little better about what you're about to do. I also do this before I "retire" one of our chickens.
Good luck and happy cutting.