Lumbering

I love wood. Always have. When I was a kid they called me “Whittling Joe” due to my preoccupation with whittling and the fact my first name is Joe. When the depression hit I lost my job and headed to the pacific northwest in search of work. I heard they were looking for sturdy men to work with their hands. I couldn’t even afford a ride so I snuck onto a locomotive and road dirtyface the whole way. It wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t alone that is for sure. Seemed like the only person not heading out to find work was the guy driving the train. Fast forward 3 years and I am still out here and never going back.

I have no complaints. The pay isn’t much but I get three squares a day. Maybe I am just a simple man. I don’t see any need for a fancy new automotive or a fedora. I just need the outdoors, an ax, and a cheek full of tobacco. Boss Mcreedy is different from me and the boys. I don’t think can even swing an ax. A slight man with a nervous way about him. He is always harassing us about our lack of fedoras and not shaving.

“Boss,” I say in my deep baritone. “If I shave what happens to Young Henry?” Young Henry is the name of the small chipmunk that lives in my beard.

“That damn thing is just addicted to the tobacco spit that dribbles into your beard everyday!” Shouts boss Mcreedy in his warbling falsetto of a voice. “If you had a nice shave like me it wouldn’t be an issue and maybe the ladies would call you a ‘handsome fellow’ as well.”

The boys and I erupt into deep belly laughs with our axes slung on our shoulders. The sounds echo throughout the forest. Mcreedy looks angry. He storms off before I can explain that the last time we tried to shave the razors broke beneath our whiskers. Plus, our bears provide insulation and protection from the elements and mine a home to an orphaned chipmunk. Of course Boss Mcreedy wouldn’t know this as he has no reference as to real work. He only driving up to hand out our measly pay or to convince us what a ladies man he is. Well, he doesn’t do that latter any more. One time he brought his mildly attractive sister to the mountain and tried to convince us she was his best girl. She had obviously agreed to play along.

“KISS HER!” We shouted. They fumbled for excuses but eventually they kissed.

“MORE TONGUE!” and they did as he was desperate not to lose face in front of us men.

“MAKE LOVE TO HER!”

“GET HER PREGNANT AND RAISE THE CHILD THUS HAVING TO HIDE YOUR RELATIONSHIP AND LIE ABOUT THE ORIGIN OF YOUR CHILD PRODUCED BY INCESTUAL INTERCOURSE!”

It was too easy. But the stress of having to hide his sister/wife and raise his nephew/son keeps him from trying to brag about the ladies.

So I go about my days chopping trees, fighting bears, spitting tobacco and drinking a sap based alcohol beverage that we make ourselves called “Mouth Fuck”. It takes a while to make but he have time. Only certain trees can produce enough sap. I walk up to a new one. I silently offer my respects to the tree and I rub my calloused hand along the shaft of the hard wood. It feels full like sap just wants to erupt from it. I call the boys over for confirmation. Everyone crowds around rubbing the tree up and down. Our beards and bare chest intermingle and we shove for better position, each wanted to show his abilities and feeling for sap. My mouth is watering thinking about the sweet nectar we will have later. Everyone stands back as I wack off a few drain slices into it. Sap pours out and some of it hits me in the face. I let out a yell of victory and we collect our prize. Someone jokes that with this much sap the amount of Mouth Fuck we would drink could make us fancy each other as if we were ladies. We share in a hearty laugh and go back to work. Imagine that? These men. Epitomes of masculinity into relationships with other men. What is this New York City, or Cleveland, or any organized community? I don’t waste time on the thought and I swallow the wad of tobacco in my check and replace it with another handful. “Its going to be a good day, Young Henery.” He squeeks in agreement and offers me an acorn then retreats into my beard. Depression? The rest of the world can be depressed. I am doing just fine.

-Lumberjack Joe Steelington

July 1932