Lawn Of Privilege: Update

I used to spread firewood across several phases and all over my land. A bunch of felled logs out in the forest. Some piles chunked up but not split. Another heap by the woodshed, chunked and split but not stacked. A bit split and stacked too. Especially vexing, my trailer was always loaded and never available for other uses. (Now that trailer is occupied by a boat.)

Lately I’ve been doing the opposite; to the extent time and energy allow I’m going all the way from standing tree to stacked firewood. (Several steps in the same day.) Also, if the wood’s on my lawn I’m trying to cleanup with fire. I used to drag logs wherever, and cut it whenever, and split it as I could… leaving big piles of debris (which I never cleaned up). This year’s experiment is to start a fire and keep it going as I work. Instead of cast off limbs here and there and bark and crap from the splitter… I end with just a pile of ash and a hole burned in the sod. (Obviously it’s weather dependent.)

This weekend I dropped a tree on the lawn. I had a fire going in no time. Trees have tons (literally) of small limbs that aren’t suitable for firewood. If you don’t clear it quick, the grass intertwines with them and it’s a bitch to clear. Also the tiniest tree has a huge amount of limbs that’ll jackstraw and fill a truck bed super fast. Raking is a PITA for which I never have time. This time I was also tossing shit on the fire instead of the truck and watching it out of one eye as I was running the splitter.

Progress was much slower but since I was creating a finished product I’m not sure it’s less efficient overall. It’s a lot nicer work area. The cheery fire smells better than sweaty laborer. Instead of my lawn looking like WW 1 trench warfare just happened, it’s just a little rough around the edges when I’m done. I suspect a little ash in the soil might be decent fertilizer too.

Also, time is catching up with me and I take more breaks. This weekend I hit a point where I was physically tired. I just sat in a lawn chair burning debris. Beats TV and I was still slowly getting stuff done.

Very relaxing. After a second wind and few more rounds hauling and splitting I called it a day; but I stayed out there to enjoy the already fading season. I sat by the fire listening to coyotes until the wee hours. I chuckled thinking of the looming specter of white privilege the New York Times invented out of lawns. I mentioned it last month:

“As usual, clueless fucknuggets at the New York Times (where else?) can’t be bothered to do actual “journalism”. (Does that word exist anymore?) As an alternative to work, one of them sniffed their own ass long enough to think about lawns. Like every damn thing these douche canoes encounter, lawns are racist and bad for the environment.”

Here’s a description of my “lawn of privilege”: There’s still a half processed log lying on the lawn. The area has been scattered with pencil sized twigs that are too numerous to pick up and pointless to rake. I think I found any bits that could do harm to a mower deck and that’s good enough for me. The soil is compacted from driving back and forth hauling finished wood but I don’t care. The ATV is hanging around hitched to the splitter. There’s a chainsaw on a stump nearby. But all the various limbs are already gone; because I burned them.

I enjoyed sitting in a lawnchair watching a campfire burn through my sod… pretty fuckin’ upscale! I present a photo of my lawn of privilege:

Privileged? I’m damn near a Rockefeller. One who gets shit from condo dwelling dweebs who’ve never had a lawn that wasn’t maintained for them. Of course unemployable whiners are always welcome to visit my house. I’d hand ’em an axe and say “get to work, there’s a bottle of water on the stump for hydration but no beer until sunset”. They’d learn what work gloves are for. They’d need a month cowering in a safe space to recover from a weekend of my luxurious privileged lifestyle.