Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm OK

We haven't been updating this blog because we've been busy moving. We bought a foreclosure on one acre.

Among the other delights one finds in a foreclosed-upon house, we got a lovely letter from the wonderful people at our homeowners insurance company. It was their pleasure to inform us that they were cancelling our insurance due to a number of concerns, one of which was a tree touching the "detached garage" (our future automobile shop + wood shop + metal shop + craft room).

We had actually planned to remove the tree anyway (either someone with brain damage planted it 12 inches from the shop wall, or some imbecile failed to cut down a volunteer at the time when it would have taken 10 seconds with a lopping shear), but this moved up our timetable a bit.

Before:

 After:

Putting aside the looming threat of doom (losing insurance and thus losing the mortgage and thus losing the house), it was actually kind of fun. You know, the raw edge of danger knowing that the growling beast in your hands will just as happily zap your legs off as it will cut down trees made of solid wood, flavored with the standard male urge for destruction. And, of course, the hearty shouts of "timber!" interspersed with Tim Allen grunts and the whistling of Monty Python sketch songs.