Actually it’s a bonus to be living
directly across from the park—about 99.987 percent of the time. Other than the
current noise and the time there was a body found in the park, it’s a lovely place
to be. I never saw the body and the police officer told me they suspected the
person had been murdered elsewhere and the body was dumped in the park, less
than a block from my house. Had the massive wood grinder been there at the time
of the murder, I suppose the murderer would have found a great way to dispose
of the body. Yes, I’m trying to find a way to kill my appetite.
I watched one of the tree guys this
morning, high up in a tree, adjusting ropes, and cutting large branches with
the chain saw he had attached to his waist. Whatever he earns doing this job,
he deserves every cent. Lord, have mercy, would I ever climb like that,
dangling from a tree limb while using a chain saw? I know from experience that
he is called a climber in the tree world and that climbers are treated with
reverence and awe by the guys who rake up the branches, drive the trucks, and
load the wood into the chipper.
When we bought our old house, we needed
a lot of tree work on our long-neglected lot. We hired a crew that—much to our
amazement—was led by a woman named Kim. Kim was strong as an ox but less than
five feet tall. She was the boss and the burly country guys who worked for her
paid attention when Kim barked orders at them. The guys were rough around the
edges, tattooed, had few teeth among them, and they smoked unfiltered
cigarettes. But, I swear, they wouldn’t look Kim in the eye. She was the
pitbull runt of the litter who sent the mangy mutts running for their lives.
And Kim was the climber. She climbed the big trees with speed and agility,
throwing the ropes around, and using the chain saw like it was a carving knife.
You know the question about people you would choose to be in a foxhole with
you? I’d choose Kim.
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