I have been told countless times that a simple sound or odor or a sight will trigger memories. The other day the Mrs. and I took a short ride, and as we were riding we saw a man doing some logging just beside the road. That sight brought me back to July 1977, just after I left the Navy.
My wife and I and our two boys had gone to Presque Isle — we were living in Mapleton then — to visit my sister-in-law and her husband. When we got there, Preston asked if I wanted to go get some timbers with him to use to shore up the ditch in front of their home. Being the kind of fella that usually can’t say no, I went. He got his chainsaw and gas can and an axe to use to get the timbers. I found out on the ride to the woods that he had gotten permission from the landowner to get as many as he needed.
After driving for about 20 minutes over some of the roughest roads I had ever been on, we arrived. We gassed up the saw and I grabbed the axe, and into the woods we ventured. After going about 30 yards into the trees, we stopped and looked over the trees and selected the ones we wanted. In all we had picked about 12 trees, about 20-30 feet tall. Then the fun began.
Preston started the saw and began felling the first tree. As soon as it was down I took the axe and limbed it the best I could and then topped it, also with the axe, while he selected the next tree. We finished all 12 trees the same as we had the first.
When Preston shut the saw off, I was informed that now we had to carry the trees to the truck, and there we would cut them in 10-foot lengths to fit in the body with minimum overhang. He walked to the nearest tree on the ground and took hold of the top about three feet from the end and said “Okay, grab the butt and head for the truck.”
I had left the Navy about a month before and was still in pretty good shape. I took hold of the butt of the tree and I headed for the truck. After about 10 yards I heard a sharp tearing sound and all of a sudden Preston yelled “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!” I turned to see what was wrong.
I had worn my Navy utilities or work uniform and he had worn his normal everyday attire — Dickies trousers, a tee shirt and flannel shirt over that. During the course of working with the cutting and carrying the trees, he had untucked his flannel shirt. Long story short, one of the knots on the top of the tree had caught on his shirt tail and literally popped all the buttons from the front of the shirt and tore it from hem to collar up the back. That was the sharp ripping sound I had heard.
He stood there with a foolish look on his face, his hands spread out like the Monopoly man on the bankrupt card, saying to the squirrels and me and the trees, “A fine thing, a real fine thing. Ya try to be nice to some people and then when ya tell them to head for the truck they take off like a pair of horses headed for the hovel at the end of the day and rip the rags all off a man! A fine thing for sure.”
Then he started to laugh and we both had to stop and dry our eyes.
Preston is gone now, and I do miss him, as he taught me a lot of things that should have been taught to me a lot earlier in my formative years.
Dads, if you have sons who are in their teens, teach those fine lads what they will need to know. Even if they never use those things, they will have been taught and will be the better for it. I know I taught both of my boys what I knew and I still have a couple young men that I am teaching what I know. Pass it forward. You may be surprised at your reward.
I am glad we went on that ride the other day, as it gave me one more opportunity to Remember When . . .
Guy Woodworth of Presque Isle is a 1973 graduate of Presque Isle High School and a four-year Navy veteran. He and his wife Theresa have two grown sons and five grandchildren. He may be contacted at lightning117_1999@yahoo.com.
