two days in the woods

On the last weekend of April I made my first visit of the month to Roundrock. The weather wasn’t very cooperative through the month, and with my wife away in Seattle for two of those weeks, I had chores and other things keeping me bound at home. But the stars aligned and I was able to dash down to my woods on Friday afternoon (with my dog, Flike) for an overnight. I managed to get some chores done but my big ambition, to wreak some havoc among the pecan trees with my industrial strength weed whacker, didn’t happen. I had left the gasoline for it at home.

Still, I managed to occupy my time. Back home in faraway suburbia I have been regularly repairing and replacing parts of the wooden fence that has surrounded my back yard for three decades. It rots. The neighbor dogs eat it. (Really!) The wind worries it. And so when time, resources, and gumption are all in one place at the same time, I repair or replace this part or that, going for the most grievous dilapidation generally. (I think over the decades I’ve replaced nearly all of it, which leads me to ask if it is still the same fence or if I have my own version of Theseus’s Paradox.) Then I collect the rotten pickets and braces and drag them down to my Ozark cabin to add to the campfire. You can see some of the fence parts in the fire in the photo above.

This was a one-match fire (unlike my last attempt with wet wood), and the trick to a one-match fire, as everyone knows, is the amount of tinder you use. Lots, mostly. We will collect scraps of burnable paper as we’re puttering about the cabin to use as tinder for our next fire, but on my most recent visit I used something unprecedented. I used old paper road maps that have been sitting in the door pocket of my truck for years and years. Who needs paper maps anymore, right? And I can testify that they make excellent tinder. The pickets are made a cedar and as they burned, they snapped and popped. The oak logs I normally burn aren’t as noisy.

As I was standing around the fire, adding fence parts slowly, I heard a commotion down near the lake and looked up at just the right time to see a large bird fly across the lake and alight in a tree down the hill from the cabin. The branch it alit on broke under its weight and the bird flapped about for a while before settling on a larger branch of the tree. I had to peer at it through the trees (since I didn’t want to scare it off by approaching for a better view) and I could see that it was dark brown with what looked like a white head. I have seen bald eagles high in the sky over my woods, but I had never seen one in one of my trees before.

And I hadn’t this time either. As I watched, the bird took off again and flew in a large circle over the lake. From this I could seen that its underside was white, which meant it was not a bald eagle. Later, when I retired to the cabin for the evening, I took down one of the several bird guides we have on the shelf there and by lantern light determined that what I saw was an osprey. With the massive Corps of Engineers lake to my north, it is not unlikely to see an osprey in the area, but I always assumed my lake was too small to interest them. Perhaps not having any humans around my lake for a month made the area appealing to one, though if so I guess I jinxed that with my visit. Still, it was nice to see such a big bird at my cabin, just as it was nice to hear honking geese splash down on my lake after dark.

Had I remembered the gasoline, I would have ventured into the tall grass in my pecan plantation (twelve trees are all that are left of the hundred I had planted years ago) to clean up woody scrub and such. But since I couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to wade into the grass or scrub at all since tick season has begun in the Ozarks. On Saturday morning (when I rose after sleeping eleven hours!), I kept myself around the cabin doing what chores I could there. I did more backfill behind the new-ish retaining wall, and I used some repurposed cottage blocks to extend the retaining wall behind the cabin. And I did a very thorough sweeping inside the cabin. Every spring we have a hatch of lady bugs and paper wasps inside the cabin. It’s not much of a nuisance, but if they can’t get out of the cabin (say, for example, the door is kept shut for a month straight), then they expire. And so the floor was littered with their corpses. I pushed the broom around, poking into corners and under things, and I shoved the little carpet sweeper on the braided rug (rescued from my mother’s house when she was moving to Kentucky). Flike was not much help with this work, but I managed to get the job done pretty well.

And then, since grandson Emmett was due at my house in faraway suburbia that afternoon, I packed up the truck and pointed it in the direction of home. I’m not sure when I’ll get back down to my cabin again, but I’ll watch for my chance.

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