If a tree is leaning one way and you want to chop it down and have it fall in the opposite direction, there are ways to trick the laws of physics! Ed is mastering them by trial and error: the last leaning tree he felled went the way the tree gods had intended, leaving Ed to return to the drawing board to perfect his devious slight of hand.
After breakfast...
... he sets to work. In an hour or so he pokes his head in and asks -- do you want to come out to take a picture?
Now, I've taken photos of him cutting down trees before. They are never great photos because I'm too concerned about standing in the way of the tree or, in the alternative, watching a horror unfold as the tree falls on the one who is chopping it down. But for some reason, Ed likes to have me there with camera in hand, just in case all goes well.
I stand at a distance and do a halfhearted focus on him putting in wedges, while answering his constant question -- is it starting to lean away from me?
No.
How about now?
No.
And then, suddenly, there is that splintering noise of a tree coming down and lo and behold, the tree does fall in the direction Ed had chosen for it.
Did you get that? -- he asks, enormously pleased with his success.
Of course not. I was totally unprepared. You didn't tell me it was about to come down.
I hadn't known it was ready!
Ah well. It is now lying comfortably away from the old orchard, away from the pines, its top half sprawling into the construction site of the new development.
Perfect! -- Ed says, jubilantly.
I smile at his satisfaction. It makes up for the hours spent on the microwave, which still is quite broken, despite the new part Ed had wrangled in.
In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. (We're searching the school playground for her unicorn mittens. The girl is still post-nap sleepy and wishes so much I would pick her up! I do.)
Recovered. Playing truck ride at the farmhouse. Her idea.
A story unfolds. Food is involved.
Our playtime isn't terribly long because I have an early evening date with Snowdrop and Sparrow's mom. We're heading out for a glass of wine at a new wine bar in their neighborhood. As well we should. When you see your daughter only when there are kids around, you never really exhale and chat about the consequential and inconsequential details of life. Sooner or later, you're interrupted by the demands of the young ones. So tonight, we catch up.
We've had a string of pretty days. I am very very happy about that.
After breakfast...
... he sets to work. In an hour or so he pokes his head in and asks -- do you want to come out to take a picture?
Now, I've taken photos of him cutting down trees before. They are never great photos because I'm too concerned about standing in the way of the tree or, in the alternative, watching a horror unfold as the tree falls on the one who is chopping it down. But for some reason, Ed likes to have me there with camera in hand, just in case all goes well.
I stand at a distance and do a halfhearted focus on him putting in wedges, while answering his constant question -- is it starting to lean away from me?
No.
How about now?
No.
And then, suddenly, there is that splintering noise of a tree coming down and lo and behold, the tree does fall in the direction Ed had chosen for it.
Did you get that? -- he asks, enormously pleased with his success.
Of course not. I was totally unprepared. You didn't tell me it was about to come down.
I hadn't known it was ready!
Ah well. It is now lying comfortably away from the old orchard, away from the pines, its top half sprawling into the construction site of the new development.
Perfect! -- Ed says, jubilantly.
I smile at his satisfaction. It makes up for the hours spent on the microwave, which still is quite broken, despite the new part Ed had wrangled in.
In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. (We're searching the school playground for her unicorn mittens. The girl is still post-nap sleepy and wishes so much I would pick her up! I do.)
Recovered. Playing truck ride at the farmhouse. Her idea.
A story unfolds. Food is involved.
Our playtime isn't terribly long because I have an early evening date with Snowdrop and Sparrow's mom. We're heading out for a glass of wine at a new wine bar in their neighborhood. As well we should. When you see your daughter only when there are kids around, you never really exhale and chat about the consequential and inconsequential details of life. Sooner or later, you're interrupted by the demands of the young ones. So tonight, we catch up.
We've had a string of pretty days. I am very very happy about that.
