I have recently made a good faith effort at lumberjacking. A jackleg lumberjack, if you will.

But believe you me, there isn't much lumberjack in this old boy.

Nonetheless, I always try to do everything myself, whether or not I am qualified, capable, or even able to do so.

There is nothing involved in typing up stories, taking pictures and gathering news that prepares you for carrying timbers out of the woods.

Adding to my woes, I had to cut many of the mid--sized timbers in up to 20 foot lengths, or as long as I could and still lift them. That way, I can use them to build a shed or even a log-cabin outhouse.

I could buy that store-bought lumber and build with it, an old mountain man told me that was sissy building.

I determined from that advice: if you want to be a real builder, use warped and uneven poles of varying thicknesses for all your building needs.

There are two ways to look at that. For starters, if the building is out of square and crooked, you can say, "Look at what I had to build it with."

Also, once you are done, you can feel pretty sure that the structure you made is the only one like it in the world. Not the Taj Mahal, granted, but maybe the pole shed mahal.

So I saved the trees where I could, trying to save even what firewood I could salvage after I had trimmed up the poles. Just label me thrifty.

The problem with having trees is, you can always cut trees down and make them disappear, but it takes years to replace them. That makes you hesitate before sawing like mad. Some of the oaks I had to hack down were older than me. It's like killing history.

Having said that, I had waited until my newly traded-for mobile home was in place before realizing that I had forgotten one important aspect of having a place anywhere - I had absolutely nowhere to park.

That's right boys and girls, I had left only enough room with my careful measurements to pull the thing in there, but had neglected such items as yards, porches, walking room and parking.

I would get a horse, but I'd have to cut off enough trees to build a barn.

I had trees no more than six feet from the back of the mobile home, leaving me with little room for error.

The first one I dropped was a mid-sized poplar. It fell the right way but tangled in the branches of an oak.

Next I decided to cut the oak and fall both it and the poplar. My plan went awry when the oak fell and landed about 90 degrees from where I wanted it to, precariously balanced over the trailer on a big black gum tree with the poplar still in tow.

There they hung suspended overhead. It soon dawned on me that I had built the perfect deadfall trap. Still I had to take a chance and cut the black gum to make it fall and take the others with it. As I knelt before the tree in an almost-supplicant praying posture, I could even see the epitaph on my tombstone, "He was always level headed, especially after the tree landed." Either that or, "He was a good fellow, but now we like him better."

I took the saw to gum, the support of my giant dominoes. I notched it and got nearly through from the back and got into a bind. I couldn't free the saw, so I started to step back, grab a drink and evaluate the problem. Just as I got clear, a gentle breeze came and the gum gave way and crashed down behind me. I was afraid to look, but I didn't feel pain or hear glass break. As I turned, I saw that the trees had all fallen in a straight line, missing the trailer by inches and me by mere feet. Mother Nature's intervention had turned my blunder into success.

I had done real well when I tried to fell a tree a certain way until it really mattered. I guess it just made me nervous, realizing that a small mistake could cost me dearly.

Then again, if you stop and think about it, life is always that way.

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