It was in the month of June last year, all around town you one can see the effect of the storm for long. Every house, next to the road there is a pile of branches and tree trunk sections. I suppose the city is supposed to be picking them up, and they may be picking them up starting on the other side of town for all I know. However, it looks as if we're going to head toward fall still driving carefully around piles of wood that have edged into the road.
The branches covered with leaves have baked brown and the leaves rattle down the street in the wind. The trunk sections, neatly chain sawed, ooze sap. One industrious family converted the whole pile into a beautiful stack of firewood between their driveway and the garage; I saw it today. We don't have a pile of wood nor a wood-burning fireplace (we have gas) so I don't have a huge interest in the matter. But that frugal, crafty part of me looks longingly and with some frustration at those beautiful trunk sections every time I drive to the store. Surely they can't just sit by the road, doing nothing.
I have thought that my niece would absolutely love to play on a few of those large sections if I put them in the backyard, but we don't have any to accommodate, but I salvaged some branches and then cut them up in pieces and after drying I stored them in my terracotta pot in the corner .what a beautiful deco item it is! Later I will segregate the wooden pieces .larger for making coasters smaller for buttons and rest will be used for my other crafty items.
When I was little, about third grade, we used to be lived in our rural house in Haryana a with a huge yard at our nohra and our farmland that bordered on a mostly- Khejarli
forest. Our own farm was chock-full of Khejarli rees and it was with fear and delight that I watched from our hut
behind the wholes and the sliding wooden doors as they swayed alarmingly back and forth during the Dust_storm that tracked fairly near our farm. When a tree fell or when one had to be cut down my father would cut the trunk into lengths then split them into firewood. We had a pretty nice wood pile and I know we played on it far more than either of my parents would have liked. We didn't know about brown recluse spiders but we did keep an eye out for snakes. I can still remember the bizarre, sweetish rotting smell of khejari leaves after it sat in the rain for a while. Once my father cut up a tree into various lengths and set them shoulder to shoulder in a semi-circle to dry. We used it for our house. Good times.
My father has always been attracted to wood and is a good collector of wooden articles out of our own wood en pieces. Only in the last few years has he been able to devote more time to his hobby and has made some beautiful things: Legs of 50 Charpoies ( a picture of making legs),
click the pic for link