Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo finds himself trying to decide this morning whether to start in on dealing with the tree that fell down this fall at the edge of the woods behind Port Swiller Manor.

It was the remains of an old maple of some height, and was pretty heavily covered in grapevine.  On the way down, it also took out the upper half of a tulip tree.  So there’s quite a bit of a mess.

The tree fell right across the creek that runs behind my back fence.  My idea is to trim away the clutter and leave the trunk as is.  Not only would it look picturesque, it would also be a handy bridge for the foxes and squirrels in the neighborhood.

Unfortunately, Ol’ Robbo doesn’t possess a chainsaw, and the only tools I have for this job are a handsaw and clippers. So it will take a while to clear things up.

I’m not as young as I used to be, nor, in at least some things, as foolish, so I have no illusions about doing the whole biznay at once, but from the start have contemplated merely chipping away at it over time.  The question is when to begin.

Mrs. Robbo thinks I should wait for the spring, or at least for somewhat warmer weather than we’re currently enjoying.  “Think of your health!” she says.  “Always you’re over-doing it and look where it gets you!” she says. “Oi vey!” she says.

I appreciate her concern, but on the other hand I will have plenty of other outdoor tasks with which to occupy my leisure hours then, while at the moment I am more or less idling.

Well, it’s still early and the temperature is still below freezing.  I suppose I’ll have another cuppa kawfee and consider the question a bit further.  After all, since I can’t actually see the tree from my comfy chair, how do I even really know it’s actually fallen?

UPDATE:  Well, I went and put in a couple hours after all.  It turns out the tulip tree isn’t actually dead.  It hung on by a thread to the lower part of the trunk and green buds were already coming out on its twigs.  I’m just lopping everything back to the main branches.  Turns out the vines (that’s plural – a grape and something with red berries) aren’t dead yet either, because vines never die.

Of course, I also failed to mention the very salient point that if I wait until warm weather to tackle this job, Heaven alone knows what will be living in or under it by then – snakes, hornets, face-sized spiders.  I used to have to deal with scorpions in the woodpile back in Texas and I don’t care to repeat the experience here.