Published Tuesday, February 12, 2008 4:31 PM
Updated Tuesday, February 12, 2008 4:32 PM

 

Watts Line 02-13-08

What was up has finally come down


A few months ago I wrote about the Hubster and the limb hanging like the Sword of Damocles from a really tall pine tree in our backyard. He spent an entire weekend trying to get this gigantic, pendulous limb down with an odd combination of sports equipment. His quest was unsuccessful and I was regretting bringing the limb to his attention in the first place.

Since that weekend, every time a storm has passed by, he has run outside afterwards to assess whether the wind blew down “the limb.” No amount of wind has brought it down.

And despite the fact that on several occasions over the last few weeks our neighbors have had tree-removal people doing some serious work right in plain view of my own personal lumberjack, he has refused to walk across the street and hire them to come get the limb down. (His stubbornness on the subject falls into the same category as refusing to stop to ask for directions. Apparently, in either case, to get help in would reflect badly on his manhood.)

So, Sunday when I saw him heading to the backyard, again carrying a baseball with a string hooked to it and an assortment of bows and arrows, I stifled a groan and shook my head. (The dogs, on the other hand, were excited, knowing there would be lots of ball throwing going on the backyard today.)

I went about my own business, but just as the first time he tried this, every time I looked out of the kitchen window, I’d see him standing there, studying the dangling limb, trying to figure it out.

Then he’d come back through the house with this earnest look on his face, go out to the garage, and a few minutes later head back outside, dogs in hot pursuit, carrying another bit of paraphernalia. I saw some strange stuff, exit the house, including a fishing rod and reel.

About an hour into the event, I glanced out to see ropes strung across a branch on a tree near the offending limb.

I headed back to my housework, ignoring as much as possible the comings and goings of the fervent Hubster and our by now wildly energized wiener dogs.

When he came into the bedroom asking where I had put my sewing box, I found it for him reluctantly, trying to imagine on which limb it would land.

Another couple of hours passed when I heard the “kaboom.”

“Finally, he’s done it,” I said out loud to myself before rushing to the door to be sure it hadn’t landed on him.

There he stood, half of the broken limb lying at his feet and the other half clutched in his hands over his head as he lurched around in celebration, making the same caveman sound that Tom Hanks made in the movie “Castaway” when he finally created fire.

“So you did it,” I called out to him. (I haven’t seen him that pleased with himself in a long time.)

“Yep. Sure did.”

He then threw the limb down and launched into a breathless and convoluted explanation of how he got it down. His story included phrases like “tried to throw a rope attached to a monkey’s paw over that limb over there” and “I took the fishing arrowhead off to shave down the shaft.” He rambled on, and to tell you the truth I had a little trouble following the four-hour saga as retold to me in three minutes.

Somewhere in the tale he used a needle and thread to pull rope through the end of the arrow so he could shoot it somewhere before tying the rope off and hoisting the limb up to keep it from falling on our house.

The two pieces of the limb are now draped unceremoniously across my firewood stack.

I’m personally glad that no one is dead and that the roof doesn’t have a big hole in it.

The next time I see anything dangling in my yard, I can tell you who the last person to find out will be. The Hubster. Only after the limb is expertly cut down by experts, sawed into firewood and stacked neatly against the fence will he hear about it.

Contact Judy Watts at jwatts@journalscene.com or 572-0511.