Solitude? NOT!

I thought I liked the solitude of working in the woods—just me, the trees, and the gentle purr of my trusty chainsaw. Peaceful, right? Like a lumberjack’s version of meditation. Birds chirping. Fresh air. No distractions.

Yeah… that dream went up in sawdust.

These days, heading to the woods is less “Walden Pond” and more “Woodstock for Livestock.” The second that chainsaw starts up, it’s like I’ve announced a free buffet and a square dance. Every critter we own comes running like I just cracked open a box of Pop-Tarts.

And oddly enough, they respond faster to that chainsaw than they do to the sound of a grain scoop. Which tells me two things:

1. They clearly have no survival instincts.

2. I may have accidentally trained them to associate tree-felling with entertainment.

Jim (a.k.a. Dear Husband, Chainsaw Master, and Chief Tree Toppler) has figured out how to manage the madness. He drops a few small trees first—basically throwing them a stick and saying, “Go fetch, ya goobers.” Keeps them busy and, more importantly, out from under the falling timber. Because let’s be honest, it’s all fun and games until a chicken gets squished into a feathered pancake or a goat tries to play “log dodge.”

So no, I don’t get solitude. What I get is a chainsaw symphony with backup dancers in fur, fleece, and feathers.

But hey, I wouldn’t trade it. Who needs quiet reflection when you can have a woodland mosh pit featuring a curious sheep, a nosey dog, two daredevil chickens, and one goat with zero sense of personal space?

At least someone’s enjoying the show.