Before the drill rigs arrived on The Mountain in February to sink our well, the boss man came out and told us exactly how much room he needed to operate, right down to approach angles and which trees would have to go. We engaged our site contractor to clear the area, and the job got done ahead of the drilling.
I mention that now because when the same well guy showed up this morning with two trucks and a trailer, he looked at the site and told me flatly that he and his crew didn’t have enough room to work. He pointed out what he considered the problems, then turned around and left.
Deb and I were (and are) miffed, to put it mildly. This didn’t have to happen.
By the time the well crew appeared today, I’d been stacking yesterday’s firewood delivery for a while already. When they left, Deb put on her gloves and snake boots, and together we took out our frustrations on the woodpile.
She worked her ass off. Her help was invaluable.
And we almost finished, too — we have maybe 10% of the load left to stack. We stopped there to save energy for the task of clearing the way for putting in our well pump.
Before that, though, we rested. I dumped the RV’s waste-water tanks, and then I chilled some more.
But we knew that if we want running water on The Mountain, we had to get back to work. I threw both chainsaws into the bed of the Ranger and we headed down the driveway.
The objective was to cut away a large section of the brushpile down by the road, creating more space leading up to the well head and all around it. The Stihl was the right tool for that job. I fired it up and began to attack the massive pile.
I hadn’t been at it very long when I saw sparks fly from the chain at the end of a cut — dammit, I’d nicked a rock hidden in the pile. I shut down the saw and brought it back to the Ranger, where I broke out a file and dressed the chain.
It was a pattern I’d repeat several times, the Stihl becoming more of a rock detector than a chainsaw. I’d managed to get most of the big stuff taken care of when I faced the prospect of a fourth re-sharpening.
I parked the gas saw, picked up the DeWalt and knocked out the rest of the job.
Meanwhile, Deb decided to toss the remaining unstacked cordwood over closer to the woodpile. At one point I heard her yelp — a young copperhead was hiding among the split oak and cherry, and she found it. (She’s fine. And no, she didn’t have time to get a shot off.)
We asked Deb’s cousin to come down with his tractor and give the brushpile a couple of strategic shoves, and he did. He’s always willing to help us out, and he does the same for other neighbors.
I snapped a photo of the completed clearing. Deb texted it to the well guy, who replied that it looked good. Now we wait to see how soon we can get back on his schedule.
As I compose this blog post on my phone tonight, I’m crashed in my recliner. Deb’s next to me in hers. We’re sweaty, grimy, exhausted and sore. We busted our asses in 90-degree heat today.
Despite things not working out quite the way we’d planned, it was a good day. We got shit done.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB