FIRE! Wood

Grampy has many talents. He can build anything with wood, play the spoons and watch 8 episodes of Gunsmoke back to back without falling asleep. But raising three honery, free spirited sons was not something he ever acquired a knack for. You could say he stunk at it and he'd be the first to admit it. In his defense, the only role model he ever had was his own waste of a father who should have had his little head pinched off when he was born...but that's another story.

By 1957 Tex found himself on the parenting end of three rambunctious boys; Ron was 11, Gary was 9 and little Micky was 7. They lived on a chicken ranch out in the Mojave desert with only rattlesnakes and Joshua trees for neighbors, and come summertime there were long, hot days around the ranch with the sublime forecast for those boys of having nothing to do. Grampy vehemently believed that “Idle hands are Satan's tools” and devil be damned, his boys would not be idle. So he had copious chores planned every day in summer to keep those impish hands busy... and those three little guys didn't like it one bit. One odious task stood hands and feet above the rest—that was Moving Wood.

Tex's great passion, was collecting scrap wood. He'd drive by construction sites in his truck after work. In the dark he'd find small pieces (and sometimes long pieces) of 2x4's and 4x6's. He'd help himself, load them in the truck and take them home. He did this for years. He knew where all the new housing tracts and building sites were and what he'd expect to find at the end of a day. “But dad”, I asked when he told me about it, “wasn't that stealing?” He snorted and answered “Naw. They don't need it and they want you to take it.” “Well I don't know if the judge would have seen it that way before he sentenced you to prison” I answered. Once again I was on the receiving end of Grampy's stink eye as he quickly dismissed me, shooing me away like an annoying fly.

The stacked wood might have looked something like this...

By 1957 he had a healthy supply of wood—enough to last him till doomsday. He'd stacked the longer 2x4s in neat little box shaped piles with care and precision, adding more as more was pilfered, er I mean, collected. There was a large hole they'd dug in the ground around back which was meant to be the start of a swimming pool. The pool plan went asunder, so he threw the smaller pieces of scrap wood into it. Over the years the scrap mound grew huge, and filled that hole completely. He got to feeling proudly smug about all his lumber. One morning he was surveying his wooden kingdom when it occurred to him that all that wood would be better placed on the other side of the lot. It was summertime and the boys always needed more chores, he figured, so he commissioned them to move the lumber. “Aw dad, do we hafta?” they implored. “Get your butts out there and move it. Hard work is good for you” he replied with no mercy whatsoever. So out they went and those boys moved and re-stacked that lumber. It took them all week but they did the job. Tex was happy. The lumber DID look and fit better over there. The next day the boys grabbed their bikes and rode off into the desert right after breakfast—out of danger of being bidden for more chores.

Several weeks later Tex was once again perusing his newly stacked lumber piles. By gosh, he'd never realized it before but those piles of wood really were better where they'd started. Why hadn't he seen that before? He woke the boys up at the crack of dawn and once again explained their chore for the week....move the lumber back. They grumbled and complained but to no avail. His mind was set and there was no changing it. So once again Ron, Gary and little Micky moved and re-stacked that wood, moved the scraps back into the aborted swimming pool, and cursed their father with every breath. When finally they finished, they wiped their brows and rode off on their bikes into the desert again to lick their wounds.

The final blow came late summer when Grampy had an epiphany. He realized that the lumber really needed to be farther away from the house. So once again he approached the boys while they were eating their breakfast (and before they could get away). “Me and mama are going into town. I want you boys to get started moving the wood piles out farther next to the back fence. I want to see some progress by the time we get back.” The boys were stunned and speechless. They heard the screen door slam and the car start up and back out the driveway before they could respond. They looked at each other in disbelief. Ron, who was the oldest, the smartest, and therefore the leader, had a plan and quickly took action. He got up from the table and marched defiantly out the back door, yelling over his shoulder “I am NOT moving that lumber again!” Gary and Mike went scrambling after him. “What are you gonna do!” they were yelling after him. He marched right up to that huge hole in the ground full of scrap wood, took a book of matches out of his pocket and by gosh he set that wood on fire.

Into the sunset....

The three of them stood back and watched the lumber burn. It was gorgeous, it was huge and the smoke nearly choked them to death—it was the perfect bonfire. Gary and Mike were in awe of their older brother. His tenacity! His brilliance! Mesmerized by the cleverness of their solution and the burning spectacle before them, they failed to remember that we always reap what we've sewn—that the devil has his due and the piper must be paid. Before too long they all three looked up to see the tell-tale dust cloud of their folks car coming back down the dirt road about a quarter of a mile away. “Crap!” yelled Ron. “RUN!” 

When Tex and Bernie drove up into the driveway they were alarmed by the smoke coming from the back lot. “What the hell?!” Tex was dumbfounded as he exited the car and ran closer to see his wood collection happily burning away. “Is that my....?” Gape-faced, he stared in shock then looked up and across the desert to see three puffs of dust trailing off into the desert— three bicycles with three tiny riders far off in the distance, whopping like Indians and pedaling their bikes just as fast as their little legs could go...away into the sunset. 

He'd deal with them later—and truth be told, he tanned their hides when he finally caught them. But by jingle those boys never moved that lumber again.