I finally came to my sense on the big brush-clearing project I began about a year ago: I hired help in the form of two teenage cowboys. They can get a whole lot more done than an out-of-shape 39-year-old who spends her weeks exercising her fingers in front of the computer.
They have helped two Saturdays in a row and having them outside with my mom and me reminds me of a story of two dogs we had here when I was a teenager. “Ladybear” was the mama dog who had “Arsha” when she was about five years old. Ladybear’s maternal age for a dog was probably on-par with a human 40+ year old mom. When I took Ladybear and Arsha on mountain walks (unleashed), Ladybear walked from shade spot to shade spot. She also knew how far I usually walked and would stop short of our end point (in a shade spot) and wait for Arsha and I to climb back up the hill to meet her.
Arsha always looked like a puppy compared to Ladybear until my mom brought home “Rugby,” a stray she found in town. I took the three dogs on a walk and Rugby ran circles around me while Arsha joined Ladybear walking from shade spot to shade spot. Arsha never looked “old” until Rugby came along.
For the past two weeks we have brought in the proverbial “Rugbys,” and I have joined my mom walking from shade spot to shade spot. We worked on a mountain slope Saturday that was probably at least 60 degrees. You couldn’t find a slope much steeper and still be able to work on it. When these guys wanted a cup of coffee, they just bounded back up and got it. They thought it was odd that I tossed bags of pine needles down to the burn area rather than carry them down. Of course, carrying the down wasn’t the problem. It was the return trip that I tried not to do too often.
We dragged and burned three piles of brush on that steep terrain.
Many hours later and after a shower, I took my son to my dad’s house and laid on the couch bemoaning my age and out-of-shape self. My dad commiserated.
Sunday morning at first light I wrapped myself in a blanket and walked outside to see our progress. There was a light frost and clear sky – perfect conditions to burn more piles of brush.
“Gosh, if only my back didn’t ache,” I thought. “If only I were fifteen.”
I looked down at the smoldering burn spot and marveled at our progress. Far below I could see two more piles I made in November that gave me my worse case of poison oak to date.
“I sure wish I couldn’t see those piles from here.
“It would probably only take about three hours to burn those two piles. Too bad my back hurts.”
I expect anyone who knows me well knows that those two piles are now gone. I had an appointment scheduled with the chiropractor today, so it was an opportunity I could not pass up. For the record, it took six hours instead of three (but isn’t that always the case?).
The chiropractor and I agreed that I would do well to get away from the computer a little more consistently and to save some of those steep areas for fifteen year olds.
As for the larger project, we're eight brush piles down and one to go. We need at least another season of clearing (and more like two) to protect ourselves against a raging forest fire. (If there is any protection, that is, when you live in the middle of a forest.)
Update: All three of us have poison oak. I have my regimen down and ended up with a fairly mild case. The boys had some nasty rashes on their fore arms. Let’s hope that’s the extent of it for them.
