He's "stihl" the one
"It's amazing what you can do with an E in A-level art, twisted imagination and a chainsaw." ~Damien Hirst, weird British artist.
Once upon a time, a boy named Billy Bob was growing up in Buford, Georgia. Billy Bob was a good boy with a great imagination and a quest for adventure. When Bob (he decided the name had to be one, or the other) was 19 he decided to walk from Georgia to Alaska. His mother talked him out of it, but the desire for wide open spaces and the Last Frontier called to him. He didn't make it until 1990, but when he did he knew he was home, and here he's stayed for 20 years, 2 months, and 17 days.
Now Bob lives in a little house on a hill in Goldstream. He's happy in Alaska and takes good care of his family. In exchange, he gets to roam the hills, piss off the porch whenever he feels like it, and use power tools. His favorite power tool is the chainsaw. When we first moved out here from town, we had 5 and 1/2 acres of trees... now we have 5 and 1/2 acres and some trees.
This fall Bob put in a new woodstove to keep his family warm during the long, cold winters. When we moved into the property there was snow on the ground, and when it melted we found lots of interesting "treasures" buried under the snow, most of which needed to be disposed of in the dark of night with a haz-mat label. One true treasure was a pile of real slate tiles, which have finally been set to mortar in the living room, under the new wood stove. We're not totally done with the tiling, but the stove is in and casting a cozy glow.
To Bob, the most important thing about a new woodstove is firewood. While most adults speak with mixed emotions about forced childhood labor, Bob longs for the days of chopping firewood on the farm. Those were the days of "real trees," hardwood he could barely stretch his arms around, and splitting logs until his muscular arms ached. Bob cut firewood for income in college, and waxes nostalgically about rented log splitters and cords of wood neatly stacked. Here in Goldstream, the trees are smaller and softer, but we have a lot of them.
It seems that every weekend Bob disappears from the house, and moments later the sweet buzz of a chainsaw fills the air. Before the woodstove, trees were felled in order to "create a view" or because they were "leaning precariously." Now however, no such excuses are needed. We have a new woodstove, winter is coming. Let the tree cutting begin!
Bob has cut a lot of trees this fall. In fact, he had to take the trusty Stihl into the shop for a tuneup after such intense usage. Little did we know this would be such a boon - while at the shop dropping off the chainsaw, he saw a "heckuva deal." One of the chainsaw technicians was selling his own chainsaw - souped up, tuned up, and ready to chop - at bargain basement prices. How could he resist? (If Mel buys shoes, thought he, I can justify a new chainsaw.)
So now Bob has new saw, a new woodstove, and trees waiting for the cuttin'. He's starting to get more ambitious in his mission. Today he cut down tree that, if cut the wrong way, would have smashed the garage, the house, or the studio. After a particularly loud crash I went out to survey the damage to see that the tree he cut had fallen neatly between two other trees. "Nice job!" I complimented him. "I did it on purpose," was his smug response.
So it seems sweet Billy Bob is living happily ever after in Goldstream, Alaska. He's got a great wife, great kids, dogs that aren't too bad, and lots of trees to cut. Life is good.
Once upon a time, a boy named Billy Bob was growing up in Buford, Georgia. Billy Bob was a good boy with a great imagination and a quest for adventure. When Bob (he decided the name had to be one, or the other) was 19 he decided to walk from Georgia to Alaska. His mother talked him out of it, but the desire for wide open spaces and the Last Frontier called to him. He didn't make it until 1990, but when he did he knew he was home, and here he's stayed for 20 years, 2 months, and 17 days.
Now Bob lives in a little house on a hill in Goldstream. He's happy in Alaska and takes good care of his family. In exchange, he gets to roam the hills, piss off the porch whenever he feels like it, and use power tools. His favorite power tool is the chainsaw. When we first moved out here from town, we had 5 and 1/2 acres of trees... now we have 5 and 1/2 acres and some trees.
This fall Bob put in a new woodstove to keep his family warm during the long, cold winters. When we moved into the property there was snow on the ground, and when it melted we found lots of interesting "treasures" buried under the snow, most of which needed to be disposed of in the dark of night with a haz-mat label. One true treasure was a pile of real slate tiles, which have finally been set to mortar in the living room, under the new wood stove. We're not totally done with the tiling, but the stove is in and casting a cozy glow.
To Bob, the most important thing about a new woodstove is firewood. While most adults speak with mixed emotions about forced childhood labor, Bob longs for the days of chopping firewood on the farm. Those were the days of "real trees," hardwood he could barely stretch his arms around, and splitting logs until his muscular arms ached. Bob cut firewood for income in college, and waxes nostalgically about rented log splitters and cords of wood neatly stacked. Here in Goldstream, the trees are smaller and softer, but we have a lot of them.
It seems that every weekend Bob disappears from the house, and moments later the sweet buzz of a chainsaw fills the air. Before the woodstove, trees were felled in order to "create a view" or because they were "leaning precariously." Now however, no such excuses are needed. We have a new woodstove, winter is coming. Let the tree cutting begin!
Bob has cut a lot of trees this fall. In fact, he had to take the trusty Stihl into the shop for a tuneup after such intense usage. Little did we know this would be such a boon - while at the shop dropping off the chainsaw, he saw a "heckuva deal." One of the chainsaw technicians was selling his own chainsaw - souped up, tuned up, and ready to chop - at bargain basement prices. How could he resist? (If Mel buys shoes, thought he, I can justify a new chainsaw.)
So now Bob has new saw, a new woodstove, and trees waiting for the cuttin'. He's starting to get more ambitious in his mission. Today he cut down tree that, if cut the wrong way, would have smashed the garage, the house, or the studio. After a particularly loud crash I went out to survey the damage to see that the tree he cut had fallen neatly between two other trees. "Nice job!" I complimented him. "I did it on purpose," was his smug response.
So it seems sweet Billy Bob is living happily ever after in Goldstream, Alaska. He's got a great wife, great kids, dogs that aren't too bad, and lots of trees to cut. Life is good.
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