I woke up this morning after a 12 hour nap. I was tucked away in my bed when sunlight made its way in between the blinds, across the headboard next to my face. I turned away 3 hours earlier when I shut the alarm off knowing daylight would not be far behind. But even then, sunshine on the bedpost was enough to upset my slumber. It is really hard to sleep while squinting. I know it sounds childish but I love my bed. I had a Sleep Number bed for nearly 20 years and loved it too but it lost its magic and I replaced it with a new Sleep Number. It was like trading in my ’95 Toyota back in 2013. I loved that Toyota but the new Mazda had a dashboard that talked to me and a gage that showed how many miles I could go before the gas ran out. Not unlike Neil Young’s song, Long May You Run; about an old Buick he had back in 1962, we both had gone the limit with the old and were due to move on with something that was even more better.
Maybe the best part about waking up today was knowing there is money in my bank account that would have otherwise been charged to my credit card. Leaving late in the afternoon from Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana I drove all night save for a short sleep in Memphis, TN. Every neon signboard for every motel chain, I drove by without a second thought. Overnighting in the truck cab came easy in younger years but a couple of hours is about all I can manage now. Not to mention, I love it when I arrive on time and the inn keeper goes to the bank without my dollar. The two hour snooze in Memphis was enough to bridge the darkness until the sun came up on the mountains of North Arkansas. I was wide awake when that same sun was high and I took I-49 Exit 178, just a mile from my driveway. I forget how much I leave behind that needs to be tended to on my return. I keep telling myself I’ll not do that again but then (again) happens again and so do I.
It seems every December the sun’s arc dips deeper in the southern sky and races from horizon to horizon with less daylight than the year before. I know better. I am the one whose calendar is running short of daylight. But if one is to move on with a happy heart it takes a clear eye and an unvarnished view of what long life allows.
I met Darryl Monse in Robert, Louisiana, a tiny town east of Hammond, LA. He owns a sawmill there. We talked about sinker cypress and we talked about the old days. He had to sit because of bad knees and bad back issues, said he turned 70 in the summer and couldn’t stand for long or do the heavy work anymore. He was not fat but he was large. When we shook hands my hand disappeared into his. What we shared was a genuine love of trees, the wood itself and for making sawdust. He confirmed my suspicions, that my source for buying cypress boards up in Mississippi was much better, far cheaper than anything I would find in Louisiana. He cuts mostly white pine logs, 8’ to 12’ in length, up to 30” in diameter. They were stacked five or six logs high on three sides of his house. The sawmill itself filled the front yard, its tin roof and old fashioned round, flat, vertical, 6’ blade spoke to another century. The big, modern, diesel engine spoke to his sons who do the heavy lifting now. They had obviously transitioned into the new century.
I chose not to tell Darryl my age, 12 years his senior. I would be hand loading my F-150 with a full load of cypress boards later and then driving all night while he did his best to shuffle from one chair to the next. There was no point. Neither politics nor religion or anything that could be argued came up. No doubt a stone would have been turned that would be better left alone. Then again, nobody has ever mistaken me for a red-neck bigot. I don’t have to say anything, they just seem to know. I understand that I am sometimes misinformed and that nobody can be so reprehensible as I think they tend to be. Still, I am willing to be wrong and to change my thinking but I need convincing. So far all I’ve heard is the same old me-me-me, the bible says, and the way they were raised rhetoric. So maybe there is something I can’t hide that gives me away. But in any case, Darryl and I parted on good terms. He even offered his name as a reference when talking to other sawmill operators and lumber dealers.
All the new boards are spaced and stacked, high and dry in my basement, waiting for projects still to be determined. They were kiln dried but need several more months of flat, dry storage before they get the finish milling. Today I must go get new filters and upgrade my sawdust collecting system in the shop. Then there are unfinished projects I walked away from. With so much to do after nearly three weeks of road tripping, the next 12 hour nap won’t find an open date until a month or two into the new year.
Maybe the best part about waking up today was knowing there is money in my bank account that would have otherwise been charged to my credit card. Leaving late in the afternoon from Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana I drove all night save for a short sleep in Memphis, TN. Every neon signboard for every motel chain, I drove by without a second thought. Overnighting in the truck cab came easy in younger years but a couple of hours is about all I can manage now. Not to mention, I love it when I arrive on time and the inn keeper goes to the bank without my dollar. The two hour snooze in Memphis was enough to bridge the darkness until the sun came up on the mountains of North Arkansas. I was wide awake when that same sun was high and I took I-49 Exit 178, just a mile from my driveway. I forget how much I leave behind that needs to be tended to on my return. I keep telling myself I’ll not do that again but then (again) happens again and so do I.
It seems every December the sun’s arc dips deeper in the southern sky and races from horizon to horizon with less daylight than the year before. I know better. I am the one whose calendar is running short of daylight. But if one is to move on with a happy heart it takes a clear eye and an unvarnished view of what long life allows.
I met Darryl Monse in Robert, Louisiana, a tiny town east of Hammond, LA. He owns a sawmill there. We talked about sinker cypress and we talked about the old days. He had to sit because of bad knees and bad back issues, said he turned 70 in the summer and couldn’t stand for long or do the heavy work anymore. He was not fat but he was large. When we shook hands my hand disappeared into his. What we shared was a genuine love of trees, the wood itself and for making sawdust. He confirmed my suspicions, that my source for buying cypress boards up in Mississippi was much better, far cheaper than anything I would find in Louisiana. He cuts mostly white pine logs, 8’ to 12’ in length, up to 30” in diameter. They were stacked five or six logs high on three sides of his house. The sawmill itself filled the front yard, its tin roof and old fashioned round, flat, vertical, 6’ blade spoke to another century. The big, modern, diesel engine spoke to his sons who do the heavy lifting now. They had obviously transitioned into the new century.
I chose not to tell Darryl my age, 12 years his senior. I would be hand loading my F-150 with a full load of cypress boards later and then driving all night while he did his best to shuffle from one chair to the next. There was no point. Neither politics nor religion or anything that could be argued came up. No doubt a stone would have been turned that would be better left alone. Then again, nobody has ever mistaken me for a red-neck bigot. I don’t have to say anything, they just seem to know. I understand that I am sometimes misinformed and that nobody can be so reprehensible as I think they tend to be. Still, I am willing to be wrong and to change my thinking but I need convincing. So far all I’ve heard is the same old me-me-me, the bible says, and the way they were raised rhetoric. So maybe there is something I can’t hide that gives me away. But in any case, Darryl and I parted on good terms. He even offered his name as a reference when talking to other sawmill operators and lumber dealers.
All the new boards are spaced and stacked, high and dry in my basement, waiting for projects still to be determined. They were kiln dried but need several more months of flat, dry storage before they get the finish milling. Today I must go get new filters and upgrade my sawdust collecting system in the shop. Then there are unfinished projects I walked away from. With so much to do after nearly three weeks of road tripping, the next 12 hour nap won’t find an open date until a month or two into the new year.
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