ON THE LIGHTER SIDE

When I say, ‘I shouldn’t be here’, I don’t mean I have lived too long for my own good, but rather it is a miracle I am still here to talk about it!

No doubt you have had death defying experiences; in fact many of you could have cheated death with serious illness or accidents and lived to tell about it. Congratulations and I’m glad you are still here to enjoy the ride. But in my case, I have every right to have checked out with the harebrained stuff I have done over the years.

As I sit here freezing my buns on the verandah after my better 7/8ths locked me out tonight, I started thinking how warm that crackling fire will be if she ever lets me in. Those popping embers reminded me of much louder noises I experienced when I was young and foolish.

Embellished Yarn # 1
I have handled plenty of ammonium nitrate during my farming years. Now, you can’t find this beneficial fertilizer thanks to some jerks who successfully obliterated a government building, took 168 lives and left over 800 injured in Oklahoma City back in 1995. Timothy James McVeigh and company used 5,000 pounds of the stuff to do this dastardly deed.

Back before the wheel and the bulldozer, we used to clean up tree stumps in the middle of the fields with the same ammonium nitrate concoction. A neighbour, who was a veteran from the Big War, learned his demolition craft honestly. Back in Canada in the 50’s, he was
permitted to buy dynamite from the local CIL (Now there is a name from the past.) and hire out for jobs like clearing out stumps. His nickname amongst others was Spike (I believe because he chainsmoked crank-your-owns).

My job under Spike’s tutelage was to shovel dirt away as we bored underneath these big stumps. Once a decent hole was bored, down would go the ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel slurry. Then I would use some lose soil to cover this mix and secure just one little stick of dynamite on top no different than a birthday cake. The fuse lay out on the ground and Spike would take the lit cigarette (Did I forget to tell you? He enjoyed smoking while he worked at his craft), from his mouth, touch the fuse and suggest quietly to me, “Let’s take a stroll.”

As we ‘strolled’ about 150 feet from the stump, the ground under our feet shook and ‘Ka-Boom’ was all I heard from behind. All around us rained mud, tree roots and anything else the home-made Trinitrotoluene could hurl into the air. Meantime the stump, which was three feet across at the top and about eight feet bellow ground was cleaved into three handy little parcels we could tow away with the old Massey.

Now do you think we were living recklessly, carefree of modern day safety standards? Sure we were, but those standards didn’t exist then. Thinking back, I can’t believe I am still here today to talk about it.

Embellished Yarn # 2
Who has had an experience with tree cutting where the tree had a mind of its own? I did and I nearly bought the farm because of it. I think the tree was getting back at me for cutting it down. However, thinking back, everything I learned in Chainsaw 101, I forgot.

We were vacationing with friends up north in cottage country and a chill came over the house…no not from the better 7/8ths, it was just cold out. The girls said a fire would be nice, but no firewood had been put away. For some reason, I took my chainsaw on this vacation thinking this occasion might arise.

So I told my buddy that because he had not put away any firewood last year, cutting down a fresh tree would not be useful; we had to find a dead tree that may have wood dry enough to burn.

Tromping though the woods, with trusty chainsaw in hand, I came across this stark naked tree that had very little bark left on it and sounded ripe enough to burn. In actual fact, it was rotted in some spots. I should have known at that time to keep walking. “Oh, no”, I thought. “I’ll take it down and we’ll have lots of firewood to keep us warm.”

I cut out my wedge and was kneeling down beside the harmless looking trunk, sawing away with my full cut, nearly through to the wedge now and yes, I was through. “Gosh, look at how this beast is slipping down the wedge instead of falling over the right way,” I thought. Odd? Meantime, for some stupid reason, I had scoped out my safety zone as perpendicular to the wedge instead of at a right angle. Why I though that, I’ll never know. Anyway, my buddy says better run which I did, just as the land-locked leviathan bucked as it slid down the wedge, whipping the top of the dead tree right along my escape route. When I say whipped, I mean it simply hurled all sorts of top branches and limbs at me, almost like it was saying, “Take that you fool!”

One such limb lay on the back of my head with the power of a 16 pound hammer and I was out like a light. Do you think I had any safety equipment? What do you think?

As Don Cherry would say, “That hit sure rang his bell!”

I saw stars, the moon and the rest of the universe, all in living colour.

My buddy picked me up and when I regained myself, I suggested strongly we forget about the firewood and drive me back to the cottage.

My better 7/8ths confirmed me a fool and wanted me to go to the hospital. I refused saying in my delirium that I would be just fine. After all, they were just going to say I have a concussion and go home and sleep it off.

Sleep it off I did but my wife kept waking me shining this flashlight in my eyes every now and then and making sure she confirmed how much of a fool I was.

Have I convinced you about how much of a fool I am? I feel very fortunate to be able to spin these yarns without any disabilities (none that are apparent anyway). And now know which way to run from a felled tree and about how far I have to run from exploding dynamite.