Luna Bench- The Tree

I lugged the aspen log to the workshop. It was heavy with water despite having sat for a year in the dry Colorado air. My dad and I had felled the tree after recognizing the various cankers and fungi—common to aspen trees— had attacked this one to the point of no return. We had plans to plant new aspens and would have hated for the diseases to spread to saplings. The tree itself was tall and skinny, its branches had fallen over time leaving a small leafy halo at its top. Dark sores had emerged on its trunk, bleeding thick auburn sap. Despite its blemishes, the tree was loved. In a forest of ponderosa, the aspen stood with golden leaves reliably signaling the changing of seasons.

Chainsaws rumbled, and the beloved tree fell to the ground. I took the small chainsaw and severed the branches, while my dad hauled the larger saw and broke down the trunk into shorter logs. He would look to me before cutting and we would nod in agreement the lengths. The lengths were random, one that might work for a bench, another for a table, a few for firewood, a few for bowls. We dragged the logs to a resting spot below our deck and piled the branches to be delt with at a later time.

As the sun sank I slathered the ends of the logs with green latex paint leftover from my bedroom walls. From what I had read, painting end grain was a quick solution to keep logs green, the idea being that the paint would act as a barrier between the rapidly drying wooden pores, and the atmosphere. Latex paint was regarded online as a cheap option, where of course there were wax and plastic alternatives that I am sure work well and take a week to be delivered. I stuck with the bedroom wall paint.

A few days passed and before I knew it a party had started in the back forty. An animal party that is. The local elk had discovered the pile of aspen branches, plentiful with crunchy leaf chips. At least twenty elk stood munching, their calves frolicking, ignorant to the great feast. At one point a buck cleared the area and burried his antlers in the branches just to heave them into the sky in an act of valor. The ladies smirked, eyed each other, and resumed eating. At long the last the herd layed down in digestive bliss beside the now baren tree.