Erywilde

May 11. I know it is May 11th because my Glock calendar hanging on the wall in the bunkhouse says so. (Just a refresher – the bunkhouse was a 16×20′ building with a metal roof, nice windows, a french door and nothing much else.)

Glock is a manufacturer of guns and an American success story. Their logo is a big “G” with “lock” in smaller letters. When my wife gave me the calendar, I thanked her and wondered what “G” “Lock” meant. Finally I figured out it was “Glock”. Another learning curve mastered.

It is raining. The field used to have a swampy (I mean wetlands) spot in the “driveway” but that has been fixed by my gravel/excavating/general heavy equipment man (Dave) last week. Oh, and I have his bill right here, $3,567.50.

Of course, he did much more than just lay some gravel down in a wet spot. He also widened a trail and laid gravel on it to make our circular driveway. Now as you approach the cabin, you veer to the right, drive up through some woods, curve left and approach the cabin from the west. Your first view of the cabin will now reveal the front door, the gable end of the cabin, and the lake in the background. Very cool. Maybe even Magnificent.

He and his crew finished my trench for my water supply through the woods. (See “Water for Cabin” blog entry.)

Dave also dug a hole for our new, refurbished propane tank. What makes it refurbished? A new coat of paint and new valves I suppose. It was about half the cost of a new one. Some suppliers put an “anode” bag in the hole with the tank to slow down the electrolysis but this company said it was unnecessary in Georgia. Next the propane supply truck filled it with 250 gallons. That should last a while.

Note to my progeny – check the tank for leaks in twenty-five years if I have gone to the great log cabin in the sky. PS – try not to generate any sparks.

Finally, busy Dave helped me solve a problem that I have been facing from day one. Over in the small field was a large, 8′ x 20′ piece of concrete that apparently was a “decorative” piece taken from the front of a local building. It was flat on the top with a couple of ribs running lengthwise on the underside. It was sitting on the ribs and essentially was a raised platform about 18” off the ground.

I wanted to move it to the cabin so we could use it as the floor of the structure where the batteries and propane generator will reside. So with Dave’s help, a hammer drill, a concrete saw, a sledge-hammer, some muscle, some patience, we cut it into two 10′ lengths. They were both still very, very heavy.

We rigged one section with half-inch steel wire rope so it could be lifted off the ground by Dave’s very large track-hoe. He had to carry it through the large field while suspended from the claw of his track-hoe (I would call it a steamshovel but it doesn’t run on steam).

Midway through the field, the concrete snapped the cable and came crashing down on top of Dave!

Not really, I was just kidding. 🙂

Wow, snapped that cable like it was thread. I think the only casualty may have been an armadillo (see blog, “Ever Shot an Armadillo?) (Side note: always be ready for heavy things to fall as they often do.) We rigged it up again and the track-hoe continued its trek through the field and then slowly, very slowly, up the hill with its ungainly load.

Finally, Dave filled in my 1,000 foot supply line trench with the dirt. So all that work with three different pieces of equipment, multiple man days and bunches of gravel, for $3,567.50 was not such a bad deal.

Working hard,

Frank

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting a local “watering hole” that has some great bar-b-que. I was sitting at the counter when a fellow I barely knew came up and sat beside me. We started talking and he certainly had a tale to tell.

He talked about this wife (number four!), his good for nothing sons, his one good son, etc., etc., etc. We sat there for about 30 minutes while he shared with me, a virtual stranger, his many woes.

He said his wife had left him.  Ran off with a high school sweetheart that she had connected with on-line. (An image of a overweight middle age woman passionately involved in a romantic fling came briefly into my mind.)

He said that he had just paid $30,000 to keep his wife out of jail and then she ran off!

Rather rude of her I thought. I suggested that he bill the new boyfriend for making her available to him. “He can have her as far as I am concerned” was his retort.

He said he planned to sell his property for $110,000 and move to Florida. Now, you might be wondering how he could just up and leave his property for Florida but he said something very curious in the discussion. He said he had to get his disability check tomorrow (he had contracted lime’s disease and it affected his heart and he cannot walk over 100 feet without resting.) $250,000. My jaw dropped but he said it so casually and without further elaboration that it sounded like he got these checks all the time. Maybe I mis-heard him but I wasn’t sure how to respond.

$250,000 + 110,000 would certainly be enough for me to get started somewhere, anywhere, especially Florida. We parted amicably and I wished him luck in Florida. Send me a postcard.

Your Geraldo Rivera Reporter,

Frank

Across the drive from the front door of the bunkhouse is a huge oak tree. Huge. The diameter is about 36” with a circumference of __ (Fill in the blank)? See the end of the blog for the answer.

Hanging out from this tree was a very large branch, probably 40′ long that extended right over the bunk house. Being an oak, this branch made lots of acorns and dropped these acorns on the metal roof, at night, in the Fall. Bam! Rattle, rattle, rattle as the acorn rolled off the roof. Bam! Bam!

Not good for a gentle and uninterrupted night’s rest.

I called the tree man referred by Joe (see ‘The True Story of Joe’ blog entry). He came out and we negotiated. He said he got this for that and this for that and it would take four hours, etc., etc., etc. He finally said that for the whole day, with him and his assistant, and his bucket truck, it would be $450. This price was quite fair. I also hoped to use his equipment to help raise the 4″ x 12″ x 21′ roof timbers on the cabin’s East gable end 25′ above ground.

The next week, he returned with his mate and the boom truck and started work.

The branch, while still 20′ in the air, was cut in sections from the outside of the branch towards the trunk. Doug would position himself in the bucket near the end of the limb and tie a series of knots that secured the branch section that was to be cut to the branch section that would remain. Then as the cut was completed, the cut section would fall but be arrested by the rope tied to the still attached section of the branch. Then the helper would lower the cut section, Doug would tie off another section and the process would be repeated.

Chainsaws are dangerous. They are sharp, heavy, unyieldy, powerful, LOUD, and have a certain momentum even after the engine is no longer being fed gasoline. Pieces of the chainsaw operator below the cutting angle of the saw are in danger – toes, legs, hands, etc. Never cut on a ladder! Don’t cut over your head! Don’t reach. Lots of don’ts. I have a really fancy helmet with ear protectors and a face mask. The experienced loggers snicker about it (it is also very bright orange – an added safety feature during deer hunting season) but I figure maybe their heads must grow back faster than mine.

I’ll post a future entry on sharpening a chainsaw. Immensely more complicated than I imagined. The chainsaw is really a rather sophisticated device. If yours in not working well, either replace your current chain, have it sharpened by a professional (if you can find one) or read my blog on how to get it sharper and fine tuned yourself.

Your chainsawing friend with both his eyes, ears, hands, feet, and his one head,

Frank

*Answer to question: Circumference = d*pi where d is diameter and pi = 3.14. This circumference would be about 113”.)

“Outlaw” said the tattoo on Joe’s arm. Joe was the tow truck operator. He had a lot of tattoos. Jail tattoos, explained another of my workers we call Hobbit. “You can tell by the color of the ink.” Hobbit has a lot of tattoos so I guess he is an expert.

Why would a tow truck operator be at Erywilde? Here is some background.

Erywilde is fertile ground. Things really grow here. Grass grows, trees grow, vines grow, weeds grow. But of course, there is a balance in life so grass dies, weeds die, (vines never die), trees die. Especially when they get to be big and old.

One day as I drove towards the cabin, the gravel drive was blocked by a huge oak carcass that had fallen during a recent storm. It lay directly across the drive with trunk, limbs, and branches everywhere. This was NOT on my list of to-dos but as custodian, I get to take care of these situations. So I started up the chainsaw and trimmed and dragged all the branches out of the way. Remaining was a 32′ long trunk about 24” in diameter mostly still lying in the woods. I made a mental note to get to it later.

Later, when Dave the excavator was on the property with his heavy equipment, I had him drag the oak trunk out onto the dam, a nice flat place. It rested there for a couple of months and was later joined by a very nice trunk of a hickory tree.

One of the design goals of Erywilde is to use as much local material as possible. Hoping to use these logs in the cabin, I started researching local “saw mills”. (I also needed to buy some rough cut 4” x 12” timbers for the cathedral ceiling.) Looking to find someone to both cut my logs and supply the timbers, I found John S..

John and I struck a deal for the 4”x12” timbers and I asked him about milling my logs. He agreed that he could cut them. I asked how I could get them the roughly 30 miles from my place to his and he said “Call Joe, he has a tow truck with a wench and he could pull them up onto the truck bed with the wench.” So I called Joe and arranged for him to bring the timbers from John’s and take the logs back to John.

Joe is a real talker. Turns out that he had done time in prison. 7 years. Lots of challenges in his life. Trying to raise two boys, one of which was not his. Wife working at minimum wage but does not have her GED so her chance of making much more than minimum wage is slim. He works hard and is trying to make a decent living but definitely has some “anger management” issues. He got angry at me for buying him a 6” sub instead of a 12” sub.

But I like Joe and hope he succeeds. His family is really confusing. Lots of half siblings, divorces, step mothers, etc. issues. But Joe married his wife while he was actually still in prison and is helping raise her son as well as their boy.

In addition to driving a tow truck, Joe is primarily a tree trimmer. I needed some limb trimming to be done and Joe recommended man named Doug who I later hired. Joe also sharpened my chain and it is really cutting well now.

Wishing you success Joe,

Frank

The week between Christmas and New Year’s we reached a major milestone. All the logs, including the ridge pole are now in place! Amazing. So happy. Plus, I am able to successfully keep a pledge that I made to my wife – I would work hard to keep any logs from falling on me.

Lots of stories to tell but for now, here are a bunch of pictures. Enjoy!

This was the most righteous log, grown on our property. Place of honor, row 1

A good man. My Messianic Jew friend (See "At, but not in, Hog Heaven" post)

Lowering the second log onto the foundation

Our replacement lull for the baby blue one. This weighed 28,000 lbs!

North log on left, east log facing lake

One last log (we thought) cut in the woods

Looking over the first log towards the lake

Celebrating the completion of the first course!

Frank

PS – Check out today’s “Balrog Jr.” post. Just wrote it a few minutes ago but it is hot off the press! I think I will go smoke something in celebration.

 In the story, Lord of the Rings, the main characters are fleeing in a huge underground cavern from a fiery demon, Balrog. It a very dramatic scene the heroes run across a very high and very narrow rocky bridge with the Balrog “hot” on their heels. Gandalf the wizard stops and turns. With his staff, he strikes the bridge (weakening it) and states “You shall not pass”.

Of course, the demon laughs, eats Gandalf and then makes a toasty treat of the remaining heroes.

No, that’s not right. Read it yourself to find out the story. The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkein.

Interesting, but what does this have to do with Erywilde? Is there a Balrog in the lake? Hiding in a cave? No, no, but there is a big fire story to tell with a aluminum bridge and everything. Here it is, 100% true and accurate. I promise.

“Once upon a time, there was an old man and his grandson who needed to burn large piles of branches, trees, grass, leaves, stumps, etc. These piles had been drying in the Summer sun for months as the faraway city of Atlantis prohibited burning in the summer. Grandfather did not want to invoke the ire of the gods in Atlantis so he waited until the Fall and the ending of the seasonal ban.

With his grandson, the old man approached the biggest of the three piles of brush. Big it was. Piled on a hillside, the uphill side was about level with the ledge from which it had been thrown. The downhill side was at least fifteen feet high. But surrounded by water on one side, raw dirt on the other and mostly dirt on sides three and four, the old man decided to burn this pile first because it was the safest and least like to get out of control, thus angering the gods.

The pile did not seem very densely packed and grandfather did not know how quickly it would burn. He stretched an extension latter from the uphill ledge out to the top of the pile. He then crawled across the horizontal “bridge” with a 5 gallon container of diesel fuel. The diesel fuel was going to act as an “accelerant“. Leaving the ladder and fuel on top the pile, the old man descended and decided to burn all the leaves, grass, etc. near the pile in a series of small, local fires, so the large pile would not catch the surrounding area on fire as it burned.

Armed with his trusty 500,000 BTU propane blow torch, Grandpa begin burning an area around the pile.  Squeeze handle, whoosh – a large, blue tongue of flame roared out! Squeeze, whoosh. The pilot flame was yellow and licked around the end of the torch.  Squeeze, whoosh!

Grandpa sees a little brush hanging out of the big pile that he decides to neaten up. Squeeze, whoosh. Oops. A small fire begins in the main pile. Fire in pile grows. Pile starts to burn. Rapidly. Grandpa looks up the hill and sees his grandson. Thumbs up. Started a bit early but okay.

Grandpa’s glance carries to the right of his grandson. Not okay! He sees the five gallons of diesel fuel on top of the now rapidly burning brush. Glad that it wasn’t gasoline (NEVER use gasoline!) he ran up the hill and started his clamber out over the ladder. He moved slowly because he was worried about stepping through the ladder’s rungs, breaking a leg and having to crawl back to his grandson through the roaring flames.

Slowly, so slowly (it seemed), he crept across the ladder. The flames were rising. The heat was beginning to build. He reached the fuel just before the flames. Now he pullled on the container to get it back to safety, carefully, carefully. Nearer to safety. The last rung. Made it!

Now the fire is really beginning to roar. Flames shooting 40 feet into the air. Heat rolling from the pile, driving Grandpa and Grandson back. Leaves in the overhanging trees wither. A small tree 10 feet from fire spontaneously ignites. Large logs in the pile are buring in a roar. Almost no smoke as the fire is so hot.

So hot.

Whew, that was close.

……….. Now, two more to go!

🙂

Frank

In Christendom, there is a hymn, “The Church’s One Foundation”. Its verses share how Christ, as the very foundation of the Christian church, will bring it through trials and tribulations to emerge triumphant (http://www.hymnsite.com/lyrics/umh545.sht). It demonstrates how important a good foundation is to any structure, how a solid foundation helps in good times and in bad.

Interestingly, one knows little about a foundation because it is typically buried and out of sight. For the cabin, the foundation is extremely important.

Let’s do some math. Assume each log weighs (compliments of www.woodweb.com) about 2,500 pounds. Each wall would have about 20,000 pounds resting on it. 10 tons per wall. Multiply the 10 tons by four for the total weight of the walls of 40 tons. Add another 5 tons for the roof, flooring, sheet rock, interior walls, plumbing, etc. it comes out that the foundation will support about 45 tons.

Next, add the weight of the foundation, footings, and slab. The foundation design calls for walls over 9 feet tall, 11.5″ thick, resting on footers that are 28″ wide and 12″ deep. These components require about 45 cubit yards of concrete. Since each yard of concrete weighs 3,500 pounds, this adds another almost 80 tons.

The slab, 30′ x 30′ x 4.” requires about 18 yards of concrete or about 30 tons. The total weight on the soil? 45 + 80 + 30 or 155 tons!.

155 tons. I call it the “bomb shelter”.

Intimidated by the forecasted 45 tons of weight bearing down on the foundation that I was planning,  I decided instead to let someone else do it. Cowardly? Perhaps. I prefer “wise”. I let bids to foundation subcontractors.

There are three primary choices for the compostion of the foundation – concrete blocks, poured concrete, and ICF (insulating concrete forms, see – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insulating_concrete_form  ).  We choose the poured concrete to avoid the cracks and leaks common to cinder block. We did not choose the ICF because of the added expense (over twice – that included all labor and although high, it saves money in later construction phases).

Having a contractor is a key step but the site has to be readied before they come. It still amazes me how complicated things get in this project. Since the site is on a hillside, it has to be excavated. Additionally, since it is forested, it has to be cleared. Oh, there are lots of rocks too.

So I contacted my gravel/grading contractor to clear the trees, dig the hole, remove the rocks, enhance the drive to the site, etc. His name is David B and he has been great. He came with his bulldozer and track-hoe and went to work.

You may wonder, “what is a track-hoe?”. It is similar to a back hoe but instead of just a bucket on the end of the arm, it has an “opposable thumb” that scoots things into the bucket and holds them there. Pretty neat to watch. When David had a tree to remove, he would dig around the base of the tree, cutting roots and loosing the soil. He would leave the tree uncut at this point. Once it was loosened, he would push it over. The weight of the tree would help rip the roots out of the ground. Next we (his helper Benny and I) would cut the tree away from the stump and section the tree into pieces and remove them for later use as firewood. Finally, David would dig under the stump, bring the thumb down on top of it, and lift/pull the stump out.

Yes, it was remarkably similar to the removal of a tooth except it didn’t pop out and bled very little. (I had my 4 “12 year” molars extracted with local anesthesia over two sessions when I was in high school. Even as I get older and my memory fades, I still  remember that dental procedure.)

All the branches, stumps, etc. were pulled, dragged, pushed into a burn pile. What is a burn pile? Check out the next post!

Frank

Ever have one of those days where everything seems to be just wrong?

A couple of Saturdays ago, I scheduled a work detail that included two other workers and me. Our goal was to clear the building site of the myriad of small trees, vines, and general brush. I had reserved a chipper so we could turn the branches, vines, and smaller trees into mulch. Very cool. Very green.

(Ever wonder how much CO2 is generated by a 4 cycle gas motor that a chipper uses? Does it really reduce CO2 as compared with just burning the trees? What impact does the engine exhaust have compared with the fire’s smoke? Don’t forget the gas required to drive my pick up truck to fetch and retrieve the chipper. Face it, we just can’t get away from generating CO2.)

Worker one showed up about 9:00 and I got him started. I left to drive to Griffin to get the chipper. I had reserved the machine on the internet Thursday and I even called the number on the reservation email to confirm it the next morning. The young lady said she had it and would see me “tomorrow”. So, off to Griffin.

Walked into the rental place about 10:00. Gave my name and asked for my chipper. The man behind the counter looked it up and said, “yes we have your unit” (“Good!” thought I) “but it is in Newnan.”

“Newnan?” I quered, “how far is it?”

“28 miles but we can have them bring it here if you want to wait. I have a driver coming back from that location. He would be here about noon.”

Man, I couldn’t believe it. There was no obvious menton of a second location. No one had mentioned two locations. The confirmation email did not say anything about Newnan.

“I called the number on the email and the lady said she had it,” I weakly objected.

“Yes sir. You called the Newnan number,” the man behind the counter offered. “She said she is expecting you.”

Doggone it, another 50 miles, minimum to drive. Helper one will run out of work and I am paying him by the hour. Helper two will show up soon and go on the clock and I will be driving all over central Georgia.

Biting my tongue and swallowing my loses (and pride) I told the man I would drive to Newnan to get it. He gave me directions. They were moderately simple but I wrote them down. Can’t rely too heavily on the memory these days…

Pleasant drive to Newnan. Moderate traffic. Sometimes these country roads are very heavily travelled. Surprises me. Got to location two and they did have the chipper. It was on its own little trailor and they hooked it up. Pleased that I had had the foresight to buy a hitch, I admired the setup.

Remembering an event of my youth (see postsript if you are interested) I asked if the lights worked on the trailer. They said “no”, that I did not have the right adapter to go from a round 9 pin femail (truck) to a four pin in-line (trailer). A little annoyed that they would let me drive off with an illegal vehicle, I asked where I could get one. “Any auto parts store” they said.

I pulled out of their lot with the trailer. With the trailer hitched to the extra long pickup truck, my vehicle was about 50 feet long and took forever to do a u-turn and I needed to do a u-turn because of one of those stupid 4 lane, divided highways. So I went to the left turn lane, waited for the light and did my u-turn. As I headed back up the highway, passing the rental store on the left, I saw an auto parts store!

Yeah. Wait, it is on the left. Wait, wait, it is RIGHT NEXT TO THE RENTAL STORE! Why didn’t the nimrods tell me “go next door. You can walk. Leave the rig here. Fix it here. We’ll help.”?

Not wanting to, and suspecting my inability to, turn around, I pulled into a shopping center and parked on the side of one of the main entry drives. I then took my life into my hands as I dashed across the busy four lane highway to get my adapter. Adapter purchased, not quite sure it was the right one, I darted back across the highway. Plugged the adapter in. Everything fit. So far so good.

I got into the cab, turned on the left turn blinker, went behind the rig to check the light – nothing! Grrr. Not wanting to rerun the four lane gauntlet, I did what every man hates to do.

I read the instructions.

The adapter had four little LEDs on it and when I checked them, I saw that I did have current. I now turned on the driving lights instead of the left turn signal and the trailer lights did come on. Yeah. Now I am off and it is getting late. (By the way, I found out later that the light on the trailer was burned out and that is why it didn’t work. Just one of those days.)

Following directions backwards is strange. The left is now a right. The distances are hard to remember because everything looks unfamiliar coming from the opposite direction. Plus I had the additional pressure of knowing that I could not easily turn around.

Made pretty good progress with one wrong turn. Recognized my error within a mile and only had to drive another three to find a wide space in the road in which to do my u-turn. I had tried earlier to pull into a driveway and back out but the trailer seemed to have a mind of its own. Didn’t matter how you turned the wheel, it was uncooperative. Hence the need for a very wide spot in the road and a good four wheel drive truck.

Looking at my watch. Looking at my watch again. Thinking about the guys wondering about me. Remembering I needed to get lunch. How much farther, how much longer?

My return was the same up to a point since it was closer not to go back to Griffin but to take another route. Got on the route fine, GA85 and GA74 headed south. Now I knew that 74 went to my little town so I was set. Just keep on 74 and I would arrive in about 25 minutes. Lovely drive, rolling hills. The solitude (forget getting a radio signal even if you want one) gave me the opportunity to study the closed gas stations, small stores and general economic malaise. At one intersection. a lady was setting up a roadside stand. Admiring her tenacity and the indomitability of the American spirit, I drove on.

Traffic was lighter. Checked for road signs to make sure I was still okay. I hadn’t turned so I should be good. Drove all the way to the lovely, small town of Manchester. A high school girl standing in the intersection invited me to her church’s cook-out. “Its a fund raiser” she added with a shout as I drove by. Smiling and shaking my head no, I continued up the hill. Finally, a road sign – GA85. No longer listing 74. Not good. Here comes another sign – “Warm Springs, 5 miles”. Okay, now I know I am lost. Warm Springs? Looking again for a place to turn around and finding one eventually, I headed back to town.

Same young lady yelled a me again although I am not quite sure I heard her, something about “weren’t you just here?”. Had to retrace my errant trip of 10 miles back to 74 for a total extra drive of 20 miles. Turns out that 74 turned left at the intersection where the road side stand was. So, back on 74 headed home.

Drove across the Flint river, past the hospital and into town. Thinking about lunch I realized I needed cash for lunch and to pay the crew. Pulling up to the ATM at the bank, I saw that I could not drive under it with my attached chipper. Checked my watch. Again. Now it is past 12:00! So I park the truck in the parking lot and walk up to the drive up ATM. Always a bit of an awkward situation. Got cash and got out.

Now on to get food. I stopped at the grocery store to get some baked beans, buns and drinks. Then I drove to the barbeque shack I had noticed in town called Hog Heaven. Finally, I am almost done!

One of my crew members is a Messianic Jew. (These are Jews who accept Christ as the Messiah of the Old Testament.) Not knowing if he was observant of the dietary laws, I asked the fellow taking the order if they had any sliced barbeque beef in addition to pork. He said “no sir.” Okay, I said, I’ll take shredded beef. “We don’t have any of that either,” he said. Clerk #2 volunteered “We’ve got hamburgers. Everyone says they are really good and we should call this place Hamburger Heaven.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I was looking for barbeque but that I had a friend who was Jewish and they don’t eat pork.”

“They don’t eat pork?” clerk #1 asked rather incredulously.

“No,” I said “they don’t eat anything with cloven hooves.”

Clerk #2 said “All our pork comes from the shoulder.”

???

“No,” I explained, “they don’t eat anything from the pig. What else do you have?”

“We have Nathan’s hot dogs. They are all beef.” clerk #1 said.

“Okay, I’ll take 4,” thinking about 1 each with an extra to be split, “with a side order of slaw. To go.” Reaching for my wallet to pay, I realize I left it in the truck. Sigh. Since the truck and shredder were so long, I had to park up the street in a vacant lot. Tredging up there in the ever increasing heat, I opened the truck, pulled out my walled and walked back to Hog Heaven.

Walking in and opening my wallet to pay, I see that my debit card is missing. Nuts! Must have walked off from the ATM with the card still in it. Reaching for another credit card, I pay and wonder why my order is not ready yet. Hot dogs floating in water should be pretty quick.

“You want us to cook them, don’t you?” clerk #1 asked. “I am in a bit of a hurry is all, ” I respond. Standing there watching them prepare the order, Clerk #2 starts to put slaw on the first dog. “Stop” I say in my loud and commanding voice. “I wanted a side of slaw, not 4 slaw dogs.”

“Oh, okay. My mistake.” He started to toss the offending dog so I said “Stop! I’ll take that one, just fix the others so I can go.”

12:45.

Reach the farm at 1:00. Net gain – shredder, food, appreciation for maps. Net loss – two hours of time, one debit card.

Truly a strange morning.

Frank

PS – I went to high school in Ohio and a good friend was Larry J. After graduation, my parents (I was in college) moved to Dallas Texas so that is where I spent my summers. Somehow I connected with Larry who was also spending the summer with his brother. His brother was a single, cool guy who had a very nice little ski boat that he, wisely or not, allowed Larry to use.

One day we arranged a ski trip to the nearby lake. The only problem was Larry’s old pickup truck. It had cabling for external trailers but something did not work. As hard as we tried, we could not get the boat trailer’s lights to work. So we did what any self respecting college male would do, we went anyway.

Going wasn’t too bad as it was light but coming back was dusk and we new that we would be much more noticeable without lights at night. So it was a bit of a race against the sunset but it was getting pretty dark. As we got closer to Larry’s brother’s house, Larry decided to get off the main road and take a back road to the house. Less likely to be seen was the logic.

Siren and flashing lights almost immediately. Larry pulled over. We got out. Larry was shirtless (no A/C in the beat up truck) and I had a pair of wet cut off jeans on. We stood by the side of the truck while the lights were flashing. Neighbors moved out onto their porches to watch the scene while the policeman checked the computer for stolen boats.

Of course, Larry explained his story but without the registration, it was not totally convincing. Finally, the policeman gave Larry a ticket for driving without lights but didn’t detain us further. He said that since we were both in wet clothes, our story had some necessary credibility.

I promised myself that I would never drive a trailer without the lights working correctly.

Jesus Christ is my Lord and Master. I hope and pray for guidance in all I do that I might honor His name.

The Erywilde project is my legacy to my children, grandchildren and hopefully many generations to come. But it is not all I do.

In June, I and three others from my town of Marietta Georgia took a mission trip to Macau Communist China. These pictures are just a random sample of some pictures from the trip. If you are interested more, visit http://www.macaumission.wordpress.com

The author, Greg M., Chris M, and Kristi D getting ready to depart Atlanta for about a 29 hour trip, spanning three days (we crossed the International Date Line. I still hurts my brain to try to figure out the IDL concept.)

We flew to Hong Kong, one of two Special Administrative Regions (called S.A.R.s), the other S.A.R. being Macau. We then had to wait for a ferry (5 hours!) in the Hong Kong airport on Sunday morning when we arrived. Here is a sign in the airport pointing the way to the ferry.

Both Hong Kong and Macau had thriving economies and the Communist Chinese are treating them very carefully so as not to disrupt the flow of business (and taxes!). Hong Kong is truly an international city, with British roots as it was founded by the British. It is a financial powerhouse and has a rather diverse economy.

Macau was settled many years before Hong Kong by the Portuguese. 98% of the tourists in Macau are Asian and they come for one thing – gambling. Macau makes Las Vegas look like the minor leagues, doing 4 times the volume in gambling. It is so big, it has two primary gambling areas, one located on an island that is essentially dedicated to gambling.

We heard that Macau had the highest population density in the world. Easy to believe. Virtually no private residences (about 5 I think), no suburbs, lots of people walking and scooters. Scooters everywhere, putt putting out their poluting exhaust. But all is not lost, one can retreat to the parks like the one above. Just don’t expect them to be very big (abour 1/4 of a city block) or that they would have fields of grass. Small fields of stones as pictured above.

We had a “Party in the Park” featuring the Americans and our amazing ability to speak English like a native. Wait, we are natives. Many people want to learn English and our trip was connected to my church’s mission arm. The ministry hosting us is the Concordia English Center and they teach English (with a lot of bible stories for content).

We taught English to the youngsters in a Vacation Bible School format.

Since the Westerners who developed Macau were Portuguese and the Portuguese were Catholic, there are some interesting chapels, churches, Christian graveyards and other signs of Christianity sprinkled throughout Macau. Sadly, the Chinese have been amazingly resistant to the Gospel. Only about 2% would be considered “born again”.

Ancestor worship (this is really a misnomver as they respect their dead ancestors but don’t think they are gods, just still extant in the afterlife and need things from the living – sort of a dependent god. Man, if you didn’t get along with your in-laws, they could haunt you forever!) is very prevalent with small shrines and offerings everywhere. Buddhism is also practiced but it did not look like it really affected people’s lives much.

For all you Catholic readers (or any general know-it-alls), please enter another one of my contests. The first reader to identify the saint associated with this symbol receives one trip to Macau. Sorry, I just have enough funds to get you there. Maybe you can win enough to pay for your return trip. Post your reply below and WIN!

One of the casinos – Venetian. This was taking as a typhoon was blowing in and it reminded me of the building in GhostBusters that was demon possessed.

Buddhist goddess of the sea. This is near the coast (Macau is a peninsula that supported a lot of sea faring men) and there is a large temple close to this idol.

Here is the reason we came – the children. Each morning we opened with a scripture reading, songs, and a skit. This picture is our skit of the birth of Jesus. Kristi and Chris were great at putting these together. I thought the wardrobe was very creative too.

Some of the younger ones hard at work on their crafts. We were able to piggy back on the same theme that our church had for its VBS – God is Wild About You. It featured pandas, which was amazingly appropriate because the Macau zoo had just acquired two pandas and they were the talk of the town.

Greg with Bingo. Bingo wants to be a pastor when he grows up. A real active child shall we say.

Chris and Kristi with one of their classes.

I loved this skit (and the story). It is about the four men who carried their paralyzed friend to be healed by Jesus. They were determined to get to Jesus – nothing was going to stop them. To me, this is a pivotal point in Jesus’s ministry – the forgiveness of the paralytic’s sin. He heard the true cry of the man’s heart, the cry to be reunited with his God and to have his sins forgiven. Jesus answered that deep cry and also healed his legs. Healed his heart and his legs – what a day!

There is a Christian community in Macau and we joined them in worship on Sunday. It is a wonderful experience to worship as one in the spirit.

Now that I’ve whet your appetite, go to http://www.macaumission.wordpress.com.

When Dad cuts down the chestnut tree,
 He'll make such things for you and me...
  A rocking horse to ride all day
   A fort where all my soldiers stay.
    A wheelbarrow painted blue,
     A faithful duck on wheels for you.
      Stilts to make us very tall,
       Colored blocks to build a wall.
        When the tree is on the ground,
         All my friends will come around.
          On the trunk we'll jump and climb,
           We will have a lovely time!
            No more tearing jacket sleeves,
             No more sweeping up of leaves.
              And when I'm tucked into my bed,
               Kisses kissed and goodnights said,
                The tree won't scare me any more,
                 When the night wind makes it roar.
If there wasn't any tree
What difference would it make to me?
                  No tree house - that's the worst of all -
                 To hide in when we hear Mom call.
                No cool places in the shade,
               When we have run and jumped and played.
              No leaves to kick and throw about
             And roll each other in and shout.
            No sticks to find on chilly days,
           To make our winter fires blaze.
          And there is another thing -
         What will happen to our swing?
        Where will owl and squirrel stay
       If the tree is hauled away?
      If the tree is really gone,
     What can I hang my birdhouse on?
    Suddenly we're not so sure
   We want it cut down any more.
  Trees are special, large or small,
 So Dad - don't cut it down at all!
 (When Dad Cuts Down the Chestnut Tree by Pam Ayres, illus by Graham Percy; Walker Books, London, 1988)

Yes, I am afraid it is true. I am a chain saw killer. I have cut over forty trees on the property and as they lay there on the ground, I feel much as the writer of the story above. A very good big thing will come from their death – a home for me. Some sad things will happen too – the end of a tree that has stood for over forty years. The end of a tree similar to those seen in this week’s Master’s Golf Tournament that lend majesty and beauty to the world. The end of a tree that supports life. Like so many things in this world, there is a balance of beginnings and endings occurring simultaneously.

Amazingly, as the trees lie on the ground, the insects move in as if drawn by some powerful hand. The first ones bore easily through the bark into the “skin” of the tree. It is called the cambium layer. This is a very thin area of tissue that carries the moisture and nutrients from the roots into the tree’s branches and out to the needles. It is relatively soft – it reminds me of bamboo shoots. Fibrous, soft but also stringy.  Here is a cross section of a tree:

To debark, or “skin”, a tree, one takes a sharpened scraper and slides it between the bark and the cambium layer. Some of the cambium will be scraped off with the bark. The bark must be removed to stop the damage of the insects that bore through it to reach the cambium. It must be feast for these insects. Here is a picture of one:

They’re very pretty and can really eat up the cambium layer of the tree. The bark is easier to peel afterward but there are lots of tunnels eaten in the cambium and it probably leaves marks you don’t want on your log wall next to your Picasso, your Michelangelo, or most importantly, your Sarah Irvin.

Next the borers move in. Termites and carpenter ants. They can do some serious damage to the internal structure of the wood. A log is pretty big and I doubt that the termites would really be able to damage it structurally, but they certainly could damage it cosmetically and perhaps their chewing sound would keep you awake at night.

Eventually, a log in the woods would support mold, fungi, worms, etc. as they continued the re-absorption of the log into the “cycle of life”. Since these logs are destined for a bit higher calling than compost, we treat them with an insecticide based on borate.

We used a commercial mixture of borate and glycol called “BorRam”. This soaks into the wood four inches, stopping the borers. I have applied a 5:1 solution of Bor-Ram carefully and generously to all the logs in an attempt to put a permanent halt the cycle of life, stopping the cycle at the log status. Then I can promote them into a “log home” status.

All the logs are raised off the ground with cross sections of “sacrificial” logs. It is not good to allow the logs to be in contact with the ground. As much as possible, keep the logs dry and never in contact with the soil.

I have made one notable mistake on the 21 “wall” logs we currently have. I did not treat them with a “moldicide” (is that even a word?) to prevent mold. Mold they have. How? I wondered. Friday, when I arose, I found out. The ground was so wet from the dew that I thought it had rained. Lying in a valley, below a dam, surrounded by water, the dew is tremendous. Virtually every evening they are covered with dew and in the morning the sun does not dry them until 10:00 so there is lots of time for mold to grow. I’ll get the moldicide in the next batch of Bor-Ram. I was trying to save money and now know it was a “penny saved is a penny earned”.

Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Wrong silly proverb. How about “dear is cheap and cheap is dear”. Yeah, that’s it. So trying to be cheap cost me.

Time for some math. If each log is, on average, 12″ in diameter and a I want to build a wall 8′ high, how many logs do I need for my cabin? If you answered 8, I would say excellent but with one wall, how would I hold up the roof and how would I stay warm when the cold North wind blew? If you said 16, you are very confused. 32? Getting closer. Certainly 32 for just the walls but then we have to support the roof. Add another four logs for that – three going up and down through the whole height of the cabin (called Ridge Pole Support Logs or RPSL) and, of course, finally, the grandest log of them all, the RIDGE POLE. It runs horizontally the length of the house, is supported by the RPSLs and it holds up the roof. You will see it when you look at the ceiling inside the cabin.

So class, how many logs? 36? Excellent. Except you need more. You need four more temporary logs vertically raised in each corner to lift the wall logs into place. These logs have pulleys on the top of them and using leverage, just one person could hoist the logs into place. Of course it would take a really, really long time but it could be done. So that is another 4 logs. What is our total so far? 40? Good.

But wait, we already mentioned some logs lying on the ground to support the other logs and to help keep them dry. Add another 8 – 10 logs. Gee, the count is really getting up there. 50 logs. Hmm. that should do it. About 50.

We have 20 wall logs, 1 ridge pole candidate and about 8 “keep the logs off the ground logs (KTLOTGL?).  The final question of your math exercise – how many logs do we still need?

I really don’t know either but it is about twenty. A thorough survey of all the property identified another 15 -20 candidates but they were not the “high cotton” category (“high cotton” refers to the cotton that is easy to pick). They are the “low, backbreaking, ‘are you kidding me?'” type of cotton. Three of them actually have grown right around a barbed wire fence. Nasty job. Barbed wire and chain saws do not get along.

They are surrounded by other trees so when they fall the other trees will most likely catch them in their branches. A “hung tree” is nicknamed a “widow maker”. They really are that dangerous.

They get hung easily because, in a sense, their tops don’t weigh much when they are almost vertical. All their weight is directed straight down and most of this is supported by the trunk. As they fall more and more into a horizontal position, their weight is less and less supported by the trunk and more and more supported by anything it the way. A small tree receiving the last bit of a large tree’s fall will be crushed. The same tree, close to the cut tree, may stop its fall almost before it starts. Then you get a hung tree.

They are also on remote parts of the property, difficult to access. I have already widened a couple of trails so a truck can get back there but there is still a lot of preparatory work to get those trees out.

One morning as I was working outside, I heard some heavy machinery. Not chain saws but something that sounded like a road crew clearing underbrush. Pretty loud but I thought it would pass by as they worked their way down the highway. It didn’t pass. Buzz, buzz, buzz, rumble, rumble.

As I headed up the hill into town that morning, I saw a small temporary sign by the side of the road that said “Logging Trucks”. Curious, as I continued up the road, I looked to my left at my ‘one door removed up the road’ neighbor’s property and I saw loggers clearing their land! Wow, how great is that? Maybe I can buy some logs, drag them down the hill and get my additional 20.

I approached my neighbors. Lots of discussion, lots of decision makers, lots of confusion, lots of delay, lots of patience on my part, lots of “visiting” and FINALLY, I was able to strike a deal with the logger. I identified 9 trees on my neighbor’s property that would work and tagged them with ribbons. I asked the logger if he wanted a contract and he said no. I am writing one anyway, not for him but for me, because I am still not sure everyone quite understands my request. Just cut them, top them and I will do everything else. Simple.

Glazed looks indicate perhaps incomplete comprehension. I even resorted to pictures and I cannot draw so you know how mightily I was attempting to convey – cut them, top them, I pay you. I do all the additional work.

More good news. The logger felt that he had additional jobs near my property that would provide the balance of the logs we need. Thank you logger.

Thank you God for your beautiful trees.

Cut them, top them,

Frank