Did I ever tell you the story about blowing up the stump? It feels like I told that story a million times. See, when I was about ten, there was a tree that got struck by lightening in our back yard. Chunks of it had been thrown across the clearing and there were jagged lines of dead grass around it. It was a big tulip poplar next to our sand box, about fifteen inches in diameter, but at least thirty where it widened out at grass level.
Now, sometimes cutting down a tree isn't a straightforward process even for an electrical engineer. Tree guys can figure out stresses, weights, and cut angles when dropping a tree, but my dad saw a tree with just two branches and no nearby obstacles except our ancient swing set. Besides, my dad liked to do things himself. Some time I should tell you about the grand patio that he built out of pieces of hand-chipped limestone. Oh, that thing was a marvel. Another time, though.
As usual, my dad gathered his carpool buddies to talk about the problem. Now, his carpool buddies were all engineers except Phil, who was a forester. Phil was out sailing that day. Jim, who lived next door, was a mechanical engineer. His daughters were my best friends and were there for all of these engineering festivities. Sam, was an older guy, an electronics technician who always stood with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth while he talked. His daughter was too much older, prettier, and cooler to be seen at one of these shin digs. Rudy was also an electrical engineer. His little boy, Timmy, was only three but he could read already. There were a half a dozen other kids in the yard and at least four moms.
My mom made a pitcher of iced tea and another of Koolaid and handed it out to everybody. It was a hot summer day and the glasses and Dixie cups were sweating before she got them off the tray. Then, she stood to one side and gossiped with the neighborhood moms about anything but that tree. All we needed was some sparklers and a hot dog and it would have felt like the Fourth of July.
Eventually, they were done talking and my brother was volunteered to climb up the tree and tie a rope around each of the two main branches. One branch went almost straight up and the other bent out at an angle. Each was about eight inches in diameter. Proving his manhood, my brother climbed the extension ladder as high as he could, shimmied up the trunk and a ways up each branch, tied them with ropes that had been looped through his belt loops, and came back down without falling. The rest of us kids were conscribed to pull on the rope as a branch was cut. This was supposed to apply pressure above the cut and bring the branch down in the open space in the back yard in case it had the inclination to fall in a different direction. That sounded fun. With our red Kool-Aid moustaches and flip flops, we started pulling on the rope right away in the hopes that our combined strength would prove hardier than the branch. It didn't.
Then my dad fired up the chain saw. The moms walked around to the other side of the yard with their iced teas so they could hear to talk, only one eye among them on the festivities in case someone got hurt. My dad moved his extension ladder to the back of the tree and climbed to the third rung. He cut half way through the bent branch from the top. Then he got the blade pinched by cutting from the bottom. He wrangled with the chainsaw. We pulled extra hard on the rope, tightening the pinched blade even more. Sam told us to swing around to the right a bit, the blade came out, and my dad revved it up again.
Just then, there was a loud crack and the branch came down before we could swing back around to the clearing. As the rope slackened, I ran as hard as I could away from the tree. Small branches and leaves lashed at my face and shoulders. All of us kids except my brother ended up flat on the ground under all those little branches. The moms took one group step forward, but stopped as we all stood up. We had some small cuts, but nothing we'd go to our moms for.
For the second cut, Jim climbed the ladder with the chain saw. Still enthusiastic, we leaned into the second rope. His cut seemed easier since it was the straighter of the two branches. Two quick angled cuts and the branch was free and Jim quickly climbed down the ladder. Here, time seemed to slow down and the branch balanced on the stump as we gawked. But then, it twisted around in a surprising direction. I could feel myself being lifted off the ground as the body of leaves above the branch headed for Phil's yard instead of ours.
"Let go of the rope!" my dad yelled. I got a good leap out of it, but not like the time my dad brought home a cargo parachute from work and we took it out in a stiff wind. The moms came running as they saw their children flying off the ground. It was great!
For just a moment, the severed branch still balanced on the main stump, but suddenly, its base shot toward the clearing as the rest of it fell in the other direction. We scattered, but not fast enough. That branch caught my dad square in the thigh. He looked down at his leg, jumped back too late, but was never knocked down. Instantly, he had a bright purple bruise that was the width of the branch, almost as wide as his own leg. I could tell it hurt, but after a bit, he said, "It's not broken." And he grinned.
My dad watched his friends finish off the stump from a lawn chair with a bag of ice on his bruise. They cut some nice rounds for the fireplace, but they just couldn't seem to cut that stump at grass level. The blade was too short and the angle too awkward.
"The mower is never going to make it across that," I heard my dad tell my mom quietly. "We're going to have to take out that stump." Ah, I thought, we're going to have another engineering festival soon.
Thank you for listening, jb
Now, sometimes cutting down a tree isn't a straightforward process even for an electrical engineer. Tree guys can figure out stresses, weights, and cut angles when dropping a tree, but my dad saw a tree with just two branches and no nearby obstacles except our ancient swing set. Besides, my dad liked to do things himself. Some time I should tell you about the grand patio that he built out of pieces of hand-chipped limestone. Oh, that thing was a marvel. Another time, though.
As usual, my dad gathered his carpool buddies to talk about the problem. Now, his carpool buddies were all engineers except Phil, who was a forester. Phil was out sailing that day. Jim, who lived next door, was a mechanical engineer. His daughters were my best friends and were there for all of these engineering festivities. Sam, was an older guy, an electronics technician who always stood with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth while he talked. His daughter was too much older, prettier, and cooler to be seen at one of these shin digs. Rudy was also an electrical engineer. His little boy, Timmy, was only three but he could read already. There were a half a dozen other kids in the yard and at least four moms.
My mom made a pitcher of iced tea and another of Koolaid and handed it out to everybody. It was a hot summer day and the glasses and Dixie cups were sweating before she got them off the tray. Then, she stood to one side and gossiped with the neighborhood moms about anything but that tree. All we needed was some sparklers and a hot dog and it would have felt like the Fourth of July.
Eventually, they were done talking and my brother was volunteered to climb up the tree and tie a rope around each of the two main branches. One branch went almost straight up and the other bent out at an angle. Each was about eight inches in diameter. Proving his manhood, my brother climbed the extension ladder as high as he could, shimmied up the trunk and a ways up each branch, tied them with ropes that had been looped through his belt loops, and came back down without falling. The rest of us kids were conscribed to pull on the rope as a branch was cut. This was supposed to apply pressure above the cut and bring the branch down in the open space in the back yard in case it had the inclination to fall in a different direction. That sounded fun. With our red Kool-Aid moustaches and flip flops, we started pulling on the rope right away in the hopes that our combined strength would prove hardier than the branch. It didn't.
Then my dad fired up the chain saw. The moms walked around to the other side of the yard with their iced teas so they could hear to talk, only one eye among them on the festivities in case someone got hurt. My dad moved his extension ladder to the back of the tree and climbed to the third rung. He cut half way through the bent branch from the top. Then he got the blade pinched by cutting from the bottom. He wrangled with the chainsaw. We pulled extra hard on the rope, tightening the pinched blade even more. Sam told us to swing around to the right a bit, the blade came out, and my dad revved it up again.
Just then, there was a loud crack and the branch came down before we could swing back around to the clearing. As the rope slackened, I ran as hard as I could away from the tree. Small branches and leaves lashed at my face and shoulders. All of us kids except my brother ended up flat on the ground under all those little branches. The moms took one group step forward, but stopped as we all stood up. We had some small cuts, but nothing we'd go to our moms for.
For the second cut, Jim climbed the ladder with the chain saw. Still enthusiastic, we leaned into the second rope. His cut seemed easier since it was the straighter of the two branches. Two quick angled cuts and the branch was free and Jim quickly climbed down the ladder. Here, time seemed to slow down and the branch balanced on the stump as we gawked. But then, it twisted around in a surprising direction. I could feel myself being lifted off the ground as the body of leaves above the branch headed for Phil's yard instead of ours.
"Let go of the rope!" my dad yelled. I got a good leap out of it, but not like the time my dad brought home a cargo parachute from work and we took it out in a stiff wind. The moms came running as they saw their children flying off the ground. It was great!
For just a moment, the severed branch still balanced on the main stump, but suddenly, its base shot toward the clearing as the rest of it fell in the other direction. We scattered, but not fast enough. That branch caught my dad square in the thigh. He looked down at his leg, jumped back too late, but was never knocked down. Instantly, he had a bright purple bruise that was the width of the branch, almost as wide as his own leg. I could tell it hurt, but after a bit, he said, "It's not broken." And he grinned.
My dad watched his friends finish off the stump from a lawn chair with a bag of ice on his bruise. They cut some nice rounds for the fireplace, but they just couldn't seem to cut that stump at grass level. The blade was too short and the angle too awkward.
"The mower is never going to make it across that," I heard my dad tell my mom quietly. "We're going to have to take out that stump." Ah, I thought, we're going to have another engineering festival soon.
Thank you for listening, jb
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