So the tree is down. The wood guy came this morning with his strapping teenage son. I helped a little with rolling logs so they were more convenient to pick up, but they did most of the work of wrassling the logs into the truck. Still -- I'm sure my face was red, and I know I was out of breath, with the exertion. Those things are heavy, and even the teenage son was struggling.
Meanwhile, Robert wandered downstairs but sounded so pathetically sniffly that I sent him back to bed, where he lies still, with the ever faithful Koa standing (well, maybe lying) guard. Nonetheless, she'd notice if anyone came into the room.
I read the paper and then went out to restack the woodpile. I want to make room for the green wood to dry out while giving us access to the seasoned wood we got last fall. In a few minutes, the wood guys will be back with the wood split into usable pieces. I'll probably then move it all to the back yard and then stack it. Perhaps Robert will feel recovered enough to help, but perhaps that is just wishful thinking.
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