Wood, wood, wood, wood

The lunch of a irrational person.

"I had no idea you had wood lust. You were so cranky."

Wood lust. It is something many couples have. The weather starts cooling off. The down blanket warms the bed, lengthening each morning's wake up. The sun sets early, sending you to bed early.

"You had wood lust," he repeats.

I pursed my lips to hide a smile. "Hm."

"Can I have some pecans?"

"OK. I've got a granola bar. We can split it."

"Hmm. Nah, I'll have the pecans. You were so cranky, but then when you started down the driveway at ten miles per hour...I had to resist the urge to tell you to hurry up. I started thinking, 'Rachel, the wood will be gone if you don't hurry up.'"

I got a phone call from a friend while I was at the office. "Good wood. Oh wow, look at this burl," he said. "I might come back with my chainsaw."

We said goodbyes, and I thought, "Let me call Jared. Better check in, see how he's feeling." Jared had been knocked out with a dreadful cold. When I left for work in the morning, he was wrapped in blankets. His pale face was edged by an atypical 5 o'clock shadow. Tissues littered the floor. He hadn't even gotten out of bed to wave goodbye when I drove away. Bad sign.

The phone rang a few times, "Hello?" Jared mumbled. "Hi, how are you feeling?" I asked.

Wood, wood, wood, wood.

"Oh, really, that's too bad. You'll feel better soon. I wanted to mention that I heard there was some wood along the road..."

"Uhhh, I'm not really feeling that great."

Wood, wood, wood, wood.

"Oh. It might be there in a couple days. You should rest."

Wood, wood, wood, wood.

The following day Jared collapsed back into bed after breakfast.

"So there's that wood," I mention casually.

"So long as you don't mind doing more than 50% of the work, Rachel, we can get it. I'm still feeling really sick. And, by the time we finish, it will be long after lunchtime." (I get terrible headaches if I skip meals.)

We change into work clothes, grab the chainsaw, gloves, safety glasses, ear plugs, water, leftover hamburger.

I look at the back tire - it was very low. "We need gas and air in the tires."

"Oh, we can wait until we get the wood."

"No, we should get air." I was not aware that wood lust had affected Jared so quickly.

I was certain that the wood would be gone, but we arrive, and it is still there. I am unable to think properly. I start pacing. We have to fit it all in the truck.
We have to fit it all in the truck. We have to fit it all in the truck.

Jared gases the chainsaw, "Well, while you make plans, I'm going to get the saw ready. Damn, who makes these damn things?" Gas shot out of the canister. "Oh, what the hell." Bar oil dribbled on the bar and handle. He tosses his gloves and grabs a rag from the chainsaw case. I recognize it as a sleeves from an H&M shirt that a friend's washer chewed up in Milwaukee.

I continued to pace. Gloves on, gloves off. Poison ivy on the tree. Can we fit it all? Pacing.

Despite the chain's dullness we made a good haul. The work made Jared animated after a couple days in bed.

We chatted as he cruised down the country roads. "Feel better?" "I feel great. I was so sick of being inside." Jared dips his hand into the pecans, "This is lunch. I didn't understand that you had wood lust. What a great haul," he smiles as I take a picture of our sagging truck bed.