Benford Takes a Fall

There was an unexpected thump under Ben's dead pine. I looked up from my filing of the Poulan 5200 I would use to fell the pole, peering through the understory oaks to see what Ben had dropped. He was supposed to be descending, after a masterful dissection of branches and bolts of blue- stained bug-wood in the back yard of a Springhill, Louisisana timberman's estate. We hoped our quick removal would stop the spread of the dreaded Pine bark beetles. A bolt of lightning had weaked it, and the segmented wolves had dragged its wounded carcass to the ground.

"How do I get down, now that I am below all the branch stubs?" he had asked.

"Cut a notch on the trunk to hold your rope, then you can come down."

"Oh yeah!" he responded confidently. Confidence, competence, competitive eagerness had cinched his hire as a tree climber trainee. He was so intelligent and well spoken that I really enjoyed our workdays together. I picked him for the hour drive to Springhill, for the conversation, and I was confident in his growing abilities.

Be careful, most careful of someone who seems to understand, and yet doesn't.

If I had added "Make sure the inside of the notch is below the outer lip so the rope doesn't walk out..." Which it did half way down... I wouldn't have found his quiet body laying like granite between the chain-link fence and a quince. His heels left two inch deep dents in the not so soft ground.

Yelling to the yardman to call an ambulance, I hovered over him, listening for breath. Unclipping his bent chainsaw, I hugged him as he suddenly sat up.

"Don't move, Benford. You've taken a fall. You are going to be OK. The ambulance is on the way." I lay him back down as gently as I could, and unstrapped the spurs on his boots. Wiping sweat from his face I asked,

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit. My back hurts so bad. Can you get the saddle off me?" I slipped fingers into his belt and lifted just enough to slip the unstrapped harness out from underneath.

"I hear the siren, Ben. The cavalry is on its way to save the day!" I tried my best to keep him calm and offer comfort until someone who could really help him arrived on the scene. Suddenly, he turned his head and spat a large frothy carmine amoeba into the grass. I jumped to conclusions that his bent chainsaw had been driven into his ribcage and a lung was punctured. Fear got the best of me, and my head began to spin, and nausea engulfed me. I had passed out before after being cut, and knew what was on the way if I couldn't get myself back under control.

"Ben. I have something to take care of over there. I will be nearby. Call me if you need me and don't move!" I hoped he didn't feel abandoned, or that I didn't care. I felt his pain so deeply, it was threatening to drive me unconscious. I sipped ice water and splashed it on my face, studying him carefully from a distance.

One must remember, that if you want to care for others, you must remember to first take care of yourself...

I told the EMT my fear of a lung puncture, and they strapped him tightly to a wooden stretcher, and whisked him away, leaving me with my fears. Would he be badly maimed? Would I loose my business? Would he forgive me for failing to give him good advice, when he needed it the most?

To conquer my fear, I strapped on the spurs, saddled up, and talked my way up the pole to retie a tag line to coax the trunk in the direction I needed it to go.

"Remember the basics. Bow your legs, kick into the wood hard! Stop shaking, knees... Check your knots again! " I could only get about 2/3 up, about 40 feet. Ben had fallen from about 30 feet. I missed my mark felling the trunk, clipping a bird bath I would have moved if I was thinking clearly. I had to dice it up small to load it by myself, swept up and rushed to the hospital.

His shin bone was split. One vertebrae was compressed (broken) about one third. The blood, was from his nose, a nosebleed that ran backward into his throat as he lay groaning.

Later, when he wanted to know what happened, I showen him the bolt of wood I had saved. He looked at the notch, and how the rope simply did what he told it to do.

"I can't believe I was so stupid..."

"Benford, It was my fault for not explaining better. I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"Don't sweat it man," He replied. He got a paid six months vacation as he recuperated, playing a lot of basketball. He complained that he missed the inch of height he left in Springhill, Louisiana.

I kept the block of wood, for a very long time.