Of Rituals and Man Hugs

We gather at Joe’s on a crisp October morning, Coffee for most. Beer for some. The ‘man’ hug shared among the core. We chat about what chainsaw needs sharpening, who has the percocets (for laters back relief), the deer in the field, which log pile to start on and who’s position is who’s at the splitter. It starts out with three or four ‘supervisors’ (usually the beer drinkers) directing the mass confusion and stumbling around trying to help the roughshod process turn into a smooth running, orchestrated production. After the initial burst of enthusiasm things settle in and each finds their own spot among the group and accepts the designated or perceived position that needs their filling. The day wears on as we each relinquishes the worn out soldier from the strenuous task they, too, had taken over from the one before him. Lunch brings a long awaited break from the chore that we never prepare for. Moaning and groans, bandages replaced, war stories told about the log that almost… the finger…the toe! All smile at the mornings accomplishment. Each knowing the necessity to keep the winter stoves stoked will cost these little scars. Break time passes and few head off to football practice, the tree stand, shopping whatever other life deed needs to be done this fall day. Besides, wearing oneself out from each years ritual. The core continues on…a well tuned, greased machine is all that remains now. The rhythm goes unbroken as switching eachs’ task, is a premonition known far in advance, before failure in this chain of events. The last pile dwindles quickly, as the remains are cleaned up and every odd piece is put through the mill, Finding it’s fate eventually on the stack. The field is scanned again for the evening feeders, the saws gathered up, stray files found, Tailgates put up, a pat on the back and the final Man hug given.

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life, outdoors, friends, fall, chores and rituals