I awoke one delightful Saturday morning to do my imitation of a lumber jack. Why did I decide to do this, it was for a good cause, my church needed help cutting down three dead trees. Ok, so I’m not what you would call a get outside, get your hands dirty, grunt- grunt, smash a beer can on your head, lumber jack type. The only thing I know about a chainsaw is that it can cut your leg off if you’re not careful but if used properly it can quickly bring down a tree. Oh sure I know there are skeptics out there who would crinkle their foreheads and ask in a demeaning and sarcastic tone, “You?” But I appreciate those who have more confidence in me who would give me a reassuring smile and say, “That’s very nice of you, always good to try something new.” So this is a tail of my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack.
As I prepared for this new undertaking, I scanned my closet for the proper attire. Wanting to fit in, I needed to dress like a lumber jack. Finding my flannel shirt I thought, Ah, perfect. Doesn’t the lumber jack on Brawny paper towels wear a flannel shirt? Then I remembered back to the night before as I was watching the evening news- HOT I recalled. Here in lies the critical decision that I had to make at that point: properly cover my arms to protect them from wild tree branches and look like a lumber jack or comfort. This turned out to be a tough decision. I wanted to look like a lumber jack, but maybe I could let the lumber jack attire slide. Protecting your arms or sweating in blistering 90 degree heat with 56 percent humidity. (Yes, I know. All of you easterners are thinking, “56 percent humidity! That’s nothing.” Well, when you move out west to something called ‘dry heat’ your perspective drastically changes!).
Passing through the kitchen I thought, Forget breakfast, I’ll pick up donuts for everyone. Stop right there, that should have been a clue that something wasn’t right. Real lumber jacks would have fried up a dozen eggs, a side of pig, pancakes and washed it all down with a pot of coffee. Then again what did I know about lumber jack dietary habits? Doesn’t everyone enjoy a chocolate frosted, cream filled donut? Everyone except lumber jacks I discovered when I showed up at the church with a Starbucks iced coffee in hand- again, another obvious sign that something wasn’t right. When I announced that I had donuts everyone glared at me with a fully satisfied look that told me, “No thanks, there isn’t room next to our dozen eggs and side of pig.” Realizing that I had failed to eat the proper lumber jack breakfast, I sheepishly sat down and ate my donuts while drinking my coffee through a straw.
When I finished my breakfast, I looked around to see what I could do to help- it was obvious that I wasn’t going to handle a chainsaw. While trying to decide on how I could best be used, I made several observations. First, I was the only one driving a car- everyone else arrived in a truck. Second, I was the only one without a chainsaw. Third, I was the only one without gloves. To the average Joe logger wearing a pair of gloves comes naturally, but it’s me we’re talking about here, the inexperienced want-to-be lumber jack. On the scale of glove necessity I would probably rank picking up trash or demolishing a wall, (yes I have done that) higher than picking up tree parts. So of course I didn’t think much of asking for gloves until it was already too late. I didn’t even pick up three branches before I was wounded. Yes, those gloves would have come in handy- a nice long scratch across the back of my hand- it was at that time that handling trees moved up on my glove necessity scale. Not wanting to admit my failure to know the importance of gloves on the job in front of the others, I simply looked down at it, shrugged my shoulders and moved on. This choice turned out to be the correct lumber jack response because everyone gave me their grunt-of-approval.
Finally the trucks were loaded- I managed to dodge more embarrassing wounds- and it was time to tie the branches down. Trying to move away from the trucks as quickly as possible, my worse fear was soon realized when someone threw the rope over the top of the branches and asked, “Matt, would you tie that down over there?”
I froze. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t hear him. But it was too late; the guy beside me asked if I was going to get that. “Sure,” I said incoherently while still frozen. “I mean, of course,” I tried to sound more like a lumber jack. This was it; I couldn’t escape total embarrassment now. You see, I was never a Boy Scout and therefore, never learned how to tie knots- surely there are designated knot for the job; knots that were manly and would never come undone. Unfortunately the only way I know to truly secure a rope is to tie a double knot. The scene flashed through my head a dark room with only a spotlight in the middle of a circle of chairs full of sorry looking men with their heads down in shame. I stand up slowly, head still bowed and with every ounce of dignity left I managed to get these words across my lips, “Hello, my name is Matthew and I do not know how to tie manly knots.” As I shamefully lowered myself back into my seat, the rest of the members of I’m Not Really A Man Because I Never Learned How To Tie Knots Anonymous- INRAMBINLHTTKA for short- pitifully greeted me, as though the sheer acknowledgement was going to strip them of what manliness they had left, with the sorriest “Hello,” you’ve ever heard. I turned around and quickly tied the two knots hoping that my lack of skill would go unnoticed. When I finished I quickly scanned the area, thankfully the person who was standing next to me earlier was gone now and no one was close by. I snuck out of there as quickly as possible so that I would not be associated with the wimpy, non-manly knot.
The short drive over to the tree’s final resting place was about a mile, but that was the longest self-actualizing mile I had every traveled. In the stillness of the cab I could sense the driver sizing-up my lumber jack manliness and the quiet and tension ostensibly cried out his findings. Oh sure I don’t have a beard and I wasn’t wearing a Harley Davidson t-shirt, ripped pants, steel toed work boots and a dagger on my belt but the goatee on my face, college t-shirt, nice jeans, tennis shoes and blackberry in my pocket had to count for something right? Ok, so I rated low on the lumber jack manliness looking scale- so what?
Unloading the tree limbs went rather quickly and we were back in the truck in no time, and not a word was said about the knots. Another dodged bullet! The only event that might have tipped anyone off of there not being anything right was my obvious observation that it stunk when we arrived. Was it the mounds of wet, moldy, decaying trees or the water treatment plant across the fence? Looking back I can’t say for sure, but either they didn’t hear me or were too offended to respond. Can you get cologne in eau de crap?
When we returned to work, we had one more tree to load. We were about half way through loading the tree when someone looked at me and asked if I wanted a pair of gloves. He told me he had an extra pair in his truck and would be happy to lend them to me. The first thought that crossed my mind was, Gloves, what real man needs gloves, but then I realized that I wanted to fit in, be a lumber jack, and obviously they wear gloves. “Sure,” I responded with a slight grunt in my voice.
The final tree was loaded, the work had ended and I was walking to my car humming the song from the children’s program Sesame Street, Three of These Kids Belong Together. It is obvious that my attempt to impersonate a lumber jack failed miserably and that I am not nor ever will be a lumber jack.