Frank

Our neighbor Frank brought some fresh eggs by the other evening. Said his chickens were laying and he couldn’t keep up. He was on a 4 wheeler, in the rain, almost dark. I ride a motorcycle myself and have a lot of respect for Frank.

He knocked on the door and stepped away from the porch, back out almost into the rain, as people do up here. Respectful distance, polite. Aware. 

We stood on the porch for a few minutes and talked. I invited him in but he declined. His boots were muddy, he said. 

Frank can do almost anything around a farm, from what I’ve seen. He is a master tree surgeon, and we had called him a few days ago to do some tree trimming. High tree trimming. He brings his harness and ropes, clips a Stihl chainsaw to his belt and climbs better than a monkey. Drops big limbs, works it up into firewood or fence posts, whatever you need.

And when we were finally cleaning out the barn from several decades of hoarding, he hauled off all the scrap metal. No gloves, and he stacks it on his trailer like some leaning tower of Pisa, that you’re surprised makes it off the property, much less twenty miles to the scrapyard. And like I said, I’ve never seen him use gloves. Shaking his hand is like grabbing an old baseball mitt that hasn’t been used in thirty years. A little intimidating. Because I can get out here and help you load some of the stuff. But sheet metal and scrap will cut you up. I put my work gloves on for that.

Like I said, Frank gave me the eggs and we stood around on the porch talking for a minute.

“Y’all need some chickens here.” He said.

“If you have chickens you’ll never have problems with bugs, or snakes, spiders, scorpions. Nothing.”

“Them chickens like to eat baby snakes better’n anything.”

I ask him about critters or predators getting the chickens. How I wasn’t here all the time and didn’t want to lose them to foxes, hawks, dogs.

“What I’ve got is a mix of game chickens, fighting chickens, and Leghorns.” He says. “A hawk won’t get em. They’ll fight a hawk. And the black ones, hawks think they’re crows. And you know crows will gang up on a hawk and kill it. Hawks don’t mess with crows and they stay clear of my black hens especially.”

We had some storms and high winds last week and a big maple tree fell over against the back side of the barn. Frank shows up this time with his assistant, Hollywood, to man the ropes. Hollywood is tall and lean, with hair braided halfway down his back and a Peterbilt cap on backwards. He’s soft spoken and defers to Frank on the best way to get the tree cut up and off the barn. The force of the wind has wedged it between the barn roof and the ground. It is loaded up like a giant spring, just waiting to snap back around when Frank’s saw cuts through it.

This is dangerous work, and how a lot of serious accidents occur in tree cutting. Rule number one is never work alone. Chainsaws are dangerous. Falling out of a tree is dangerous. You don’t want to be alone if something happens. 

And trees seldom fall in a straight line. They catch on other trees, vines, get twisted up. All that weight resting precariously on a smaller tree, or up against a barn. It can break loose and fall on a person, or snap back around to its natural line with the force of an elephant kick. 

On the barn roof, Frank ties a thick rope to the maple and tosses it down to Hollywood, who wraps it several times around a tree and holds the free end. He’ll let it out easy and gradually as Frank uses the saw to relieve the pressure points. Then he can work it up without fear of it kicking back or falling on him.

Frank and Hollywood finish the tree in about an hour, load up the equipment. I pay Frank $100 and think to myself, that would have been $800 in Atlanta. Just one more good reason to live in the country. Not to mention the fresh air and quiet. 

Frank is appreciative and says he’ll bring some more eggs next week. Also to think about the chickens. I’d been admiring his Honda 4 wheeler earlier and he tells me about a fellow up the road that works on them, fixes them up and sells them. Think I’ll ride over there this afternoon and see what he’s got. 

But first I make an omelet for lunch, throw in some leftover grilled chicken, tomatoes, baby spinach, and shredded cheddar. Got to use up these fresh eggs.