I closed my eyes and felt the ground vibrate as the Huskavarna roared to life and chewed through log after log devouring fibers and depositing sawdust the smell filled my nose and a smile passed my lips fresh fir in the morning the crash of timber in the distance the hush that fell upon the forest during lunch – muted thumping trancelike and rhythmic each round hit with a maul and then bashed with the sledge tossing split rounds into stacks on the truck bed perfect dance performed by the woodcutter – the rumbling tires against the gravel road sent me to slumber the crunching mixed with the gentle rocking fighting until the very last trying desperately to hear the low murmur of my father and uncle Steve telling tall tales of 600 yard coyote kills with just one blast from the old 2-23 Remington and the 40 lb. salmon still swimming with a 20 dollar jig –