The not-so-poetic Lumberjack.

So, I’m out at the sawmill yesterday, converting standing timber into piles of lumber and firewood and mulch. All the while, this ditty is going through my head…


Sorry little tree,

chop, chop, chop.

Sorry little tree,

snap, crackle, pop.

I’m going to build a house,

heat it with wood.

I’m going to build a house,

right where you stood.



… lovely.

'Twas the day before Christmas...

...and not a minute spent in the house.

Mostly pictures

So we had this...

Now we have this...

And there was this for a bottom...

Now there is this...

All of it lacks a final finish coat

and needs some color work

but you get the idea.

Incidentally...

All work below the keyboard and any re-finishing,

 ( no doubt, I will have refinished the entire piano by the time I'm through)

is just because I want to do it...

well... have to do it.

You get lots of extras hiring an Aspie. 

Anyway...

Gwen, this is what I consider to be a mess...

Just so you don't think it never happens.

And Mr. Old Fool...

I thought you might like to see the beast that heats my shop...

Some locals made it.

She sat out in the weather for quite a while,

so she ain't pretty, but she'll throw out some heat now.

Oh...

and here is the saw mill shed with the lath on...

I have an oak tree on the way.

She'll have shingles before you know it.

'Night ya'll.