Last week I had cut down a large ash tree that was shading out one of my white oaks on the south side of the bluff. I figured the white oak had a year or two before it finally died off from the shade. So I killed two birds with one stone: I saved my white oak and cut a gnarled ash tree for firewood. As big as the tree was, I pulled it home during two different days. The top had fallen towards the bottom of the bluff, but the butt end was up on the steep part of the bluff. The top I pulled out a couple of days ago. I bucked the remainder of the tree into two, 12′ logs, and because of their size and position, I left them for what I hoped would be better pulling conditions.
This winter has been a challenging one, and better working conditions have been elusive.
As it worked out, I wasn’t able to get to the butt end until today. We received about 5″ of white fluffy powder last night, that had covered up bare ground. In effect, it was a “first snow”, despite being Mid-January. Pulling anything in a first snow is a dicey prospect- it is slippery as hell. I took a hard spill feeding out hay this morning, and even the horses were sliding around. I would have rather waited, but warm weather this coming weekend meant that our snow would soon be gone. Worse yet, it will be warm enough on that south slope to turn the surface to mud over frozen soil: truly treacherous conditions. So slippery or not, Sonny and I had to get it done today. It would be a challenging combination of effort: the delicate application of power.
Before we began, I coached Sonny for the task ahead of us, because any mistakes could get ugly. He seemed to be listening, an ear cocked my way.
For his part, Sonny was a crackerjack. We worked straight down the bluff, so that if he did slip he would be able to catch himself. He would need to pull just so. Too forceful of a start would mean a massive log gaining its own momentum. An uncontrolled slide could cause a wreck. Holding my breath, I brought Sonny up on the lines, and then gave the smallest of release to move. Sonny leaned into the collar enough to get the log sliding. The lightest touch on a mountain of a log. Immediately, I asked Sonny to stop, while the log slid forward. Six inches. A tentative stop. I gave a sigh of relief. I got Sonny positioned. Again, he leaned forward applying more force than I could muster with my whole body, and it was just a touch for him. Six more inches. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Start again. A foot this time. And that is how we worked. A little more here, a little less there. Low whispers of encouragement to tease both of those logs down the hill. Six inches to a foot at a time. It was slow… SLOW going, but we had control.
It is times like these that I really appreciate the extra time I took in training this horse. It was many small steps towards moving as one. Most days, I would appreciate the feel of this kind of finesse we have worked so hard to develop. But today, it was an absolute necessity.
