‘I’m a logger,’ is a line from an old comedy song that allowed the main character to get out of several predicaments by revealing how tough of an occupation he had. The Department of Labor evidently agrees because the logging category of forestry is always at, or near, the top of their annual survey of the most dangerous professions.
Other than farming, I have had more relatives engaged in logging than any other job. One of my uncles logged his entire life, while several of my distant cousins continue to be successful in that industry in other states. One of my father’s cousins even lost his life to a chainsaw accident, which further emphasizes the inherent danger of that industry.
My first participation in the logging business was pretty short-lived. I was 12 at the time, and the farm income was less than meager that year. Dad decided that we could supplement our cash flow by logging out the cedar on a remote and steep hillside that we didn’t even have fenced for cattle. Fifty years ago, dad’s chainsaw was a behemoth piece of machinery that was much too heavy and dangerous for a 12-year-old to handle. Unfortunately, the 3-pound axe fit my stature perfectly.
My job, after dad would fell the tree and cut it into log lengths, was to trim the limbs with the axe before chaining the log to the harness of our only remaining draft horse. I would then lead ‘Old Buck,’ with log in tow, to a clearing near the dirt road. I would unhook the chain, lead the horse back to the next one and start all over again. Did I mention that we logged that parcel of land in July and August of that year? The heat and humidity created in a cedar break where no wind can ever reach you is downright suffocating. I knew, right then, I had no desire to be a logger.
When Judy and I first married, we bought a little house that was heated with wood. Every weekend of the winter months found me sawing and splitting firewood. I actually enjoyed that chore so much that I found myself wondering out loud, “Maybe I could be a logger.”
Last week, a freak windstorm hit my farmstead. Besides losing most of the roofing shingles and trim on my house, I also had major damage to four barns and dozens of trees down. Nine of the trees were in the yard and barn area. I had one on top of a barn, another on top of the corral, three on the yard fence and even a tree smack dab in the middle of my wife’s swimming pool. After calling the insurance company, I called a local tree service to make a bid on removal of the trees here at the house and barn. The bid was over $5,600 and my insurance policy capped tree removal at $500.
“What are we going to do?” My wife implored.
“I’m going to go sharpen the chain on the chainsaw and get started,” I answered matter-of-factly.
“You’re too old to cut all these trees up,” she quickly shot back.
“Yes, but I’m too poor to spend $5,000 for something I can do, myself.”
In the last 14 days, I have spent $25 on gas and oil, $7 on a new chain file and close to $10 on ibuprofen. The yard and barn area are clear of trees and I realize that my original thought, at age 12, was correct: I am not a logger.
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
