Here’s a pile of wood cut by an 89 year old man.

True, he was two months younger at the time,

and also true, he used a gas powered chain saw,

not nearly as heavy as the one he yielded 40 years ago,

and certainly not a bow saw like his granddaddy knew.

I must include the fact that the 89 year old man

did not cut up these cords in a single day

and has been known to partake in napping

intermittently to frequently

to add a needed boost as dwindling stamina demands.

This is evidence of noble work he’s done

when he wasn’t throwing bales around

or carrying buckets of ground up corn

to feed voluble, ungrateful, insistent, insatiable

growing holstein heifers into cows,

or reading sundry novels (a man with no obvious use for category)

and devouring magazines front to back and inbetween

(How many subscriptions can one man read?

National Geographic, Scientific American, Utne Reader, Sojourners,

The Farmer, The Land, Funny TImes,

The Nation, Hightower’s Lowdown, Atlantic,

Mother Jones, Harpers,  Need I list on?)

But I digress…

This man of which I did forspeak not only tackled wide girthed trunks

and laid those heavy pieces down,

but gallantly fought off a hackle-raised cock

who foolishly, fearlessly, fiercely charged both man and roaring saw.

Testosterone-obsessed Mac Rooster was very nearly sliced to tinder

an inch away

from becoming Sunday dinner

with gravy blood atop a pile of timber.

This wood will make a lot of heat.

It’s going to burn a long, long time.

What a grand and massive pile of trees felled

and hauled and sawn

by someone who’s outlived them all.

I want to shout.  It makes me proud,

this one more thing my Daddy did.

Thursday, March 15th, 2012, 3:29 pm   |   Creative process, farm, Living Song Farm & Publishing, my works, poetry, Uncategorized  |  RSS feed |  Respond  |  Trackback