[Deadbug]

I love this time of year. It is, perhaps, my favorite season of all. The kids are back in school, the weather is cooling down enough that I can sit for hours, enjoying my back yard and next week is neighborhood cleanup, where the city comes and removes all the construction debris, large trash and stuff you can't normally fit in the can. In just a few weeks the leaves will start changing, prompting endless, scenic drives through the canyons and shortly after that, winter will bless us with snow to play in. In any event, August and September tend to be busy months trying to finish up the various household projects and prepare our home for the upcoming holidays.

As an interior designer, I'm an inside person. I take care of all the finishing touches inside the home, decide on upgrades and arrange to get it done. DH has owned a landscaping company for 20 years, so it stands to reason he's the outside person on our team, taking care of the landscaping and making sure everything in our yard is well maintained. Generally, he's very good at what he does. Occasionally, things don't quite go as planned. We encountered one of those occasional moments just yesterday. Again.

We spent, what seemed to be, an endless summer debating the status of a specific tree in the back yard and closely watching it's chances for survival. It's a rather tall cottonwood tree that offered quite a bit of shade to the east side of the house and some much needed screening from our neighbors. When it became obvious it wasn't going to make it another year, we, collectively, decided it needed to go. Since neighborhood cleanup is here, this was the perfect opportunity to put the tired old tree out of it's misery without bearing the expense of disposal. Lovely! Have at it babe! You're the man!

Now I was out for better part of the day yesterday so I didn't actually witness the events that transpired. The story I'm about to convey is a mixed rendition of his side of the tale and the 3 employees that apparently stood on the ground watching.

I get a phone call.
"Gina. I don't think we can drop this tree without a bucket truck. It's too tall to climb." He says.
Me, being captain obvious responds with "Well then go get a bucket truck."
"It'll take half the day and we have other things to do."
"Well then do it tomorrow." I said.

He hangs up. Now I hate that. Chris never says goodbye or gives any indication that our conversation is over. My only clue is the 'woop woop woop' tone the phone gives me telling me the call is terminated. I shrug my shoulders and move on with my day.

15 minutes later the phone rings again. I could almost smell the testosterone through the air when he says "Nevermind. I'm gonna cowboy up."
"You're gonna what?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. This is a new term for me, so I wasn't quite sure what, exactly, he meant.
"Yeah. I'm gonna cowboy up. You know... I'm just going to get up there. It's not that bad." He said.

Again, before I could say a word, he hangs up. I could tell he was pretty pumped up. That should have been my first clue that I needed to worry. However, he's been doing this for 20 years and just like he can't tell me where to put walls, I can't tell him how to cut down a cottonwood tree. Though, I think I should have.

Hours pass and my day is for the most part done. I just needed to pick up a few things from Home Depot and head home. I was tired and just wanted to relax for a minute before the kids got home from school.

Now what I encountered when I pulled into the cul-de-sac was a cross between a crime scene and the remnants of a hurricane. Neighbors were out on the street, leaves and twigs scattered up and down the span of 8 houses and my dh standing in the driveway talking to someone anxiously on his cell phone. You know that sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when things aren't just right? Yep. I had that one! He sees me pull in, gets off the phone quickly and tries to head me off. I knew, yet again, something dramatic had to have happened.

I look up. The tree is down, so at least that's done. I couldn't really see anything beyond the hole it left in the skyline. I fearfully decided to be brave and get out of the car when DH comes walking up to me.

Standing before me was a sight I wasn't quite expecting. His hair was tossed, his arms and legs scratched, beaten and bruised as though he just got the living crap kicked out of him by a pack of mountain lions, and the entire back of his shorts ripped out revealing his cheetah print boxers for the entire world to enjoy. Based on his appearance, my first concern was his well being, so I immediately ask if he's ok. He just rolls his eyes and nods, indicating while he looks pretty battered, he's fine.

I had to ask. I didn't want to ask, but I quickly realized I needed to know the gravity of the situation.

I take a deep breath. "So...." Another deep breath and the unmistakable look of worry in my eyes... "How'd it go?"

He stands there, nods his head, looks up at the sky for a minute and struggles to locate the proper words to convey what just happened. "Well... I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

I knew at that moment, things were bad. That sinking feeling was gone, but now the curiosity had set in. I make one final attempt to mentally prepare myself for what he had to say. "Let's start with the bad news."

He stands there shuffling his feet, looking down to the ground and dancing around a bit. I could tell his body wasn't the only thing wounded but his ego was too. "We need a new fence."

"Oh! Well ok." I said.
"And there's no power" he says.
"You hit a power line?" My eyes grew wide. "Is there more?" I asked. "Who were you talking to on the phone?"
"Oh just the roofers. They're on their way."

Webster didn't publish a word that could adequately articulate the look on my face at that point. "There's a hole in the roof?"
"Just a small hole. It's not that big of a deal."

Now women are terrible at estimating measurements when an accurate measurement is essential. This is something that most handy men excel at. They can look at any given object and estimate within a few inches how big something is or needs to be. That is, unless a problem arises and they need to soften the blow a little bit. "How small?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
"I don't know. 8 feet... or so." He says.
"Or so?"
"Maybe 10." he confesses.
"Chris, that's not a small hole!" I point out, trying to maintain my composure.

I'm trying to take this in. A fence, roof and power meter (our lines are underground). The whole package is a little overwhelming for one small tree that one decides to 'cowboy up' in just to save $300 for the rental of a bucket truck. I just stood there, silent for s minute in what appeared to be shock. Then I had to ask "So what's the good news now?"

He lights up as though he's holding the winning lottery ticket. "OH! Well, I cut down that cottonwood tree so we don't have to worry about it falling now."

Nice! Very nice!

The final question that bear on my mind is how on earth did he come out of this looking like he was skinned alive. "So, how did you get all cut up like this? You've cut down hundreds of trees."

"I was standing on a limb." he says.
"And?" I asked curiously.
"Well I was cutting the limb above it and the chainsaw slipped and hit the one I was standing on." He explained cryptically.
"And??" I pressed.
At this point he ego was not just damaged. It was shattered. "I should have got a bucket truck."

I don't think he's much of a cowboy anymore.