Last Saturday, I sped out to Mark Queijo’s house to borrow his lawn mower and grab another trailer (his) load of firewood, and of course there is no getting near that guy without helping him do seventeen other things (you might call it equal trade, but believe me, he’ll be in the red as long as he lives).
Mark’s adding a set of stairs to his back deck and hacking them out of rough cut lumber. Lumber that’s one step away from its source – the bark is removed and it’s cut to width and length but not dressed. Think wood that actually measures 4×6 or 2×4. “Wait until you see this lumberyard, you’ll love it,” he cooed. As if to make the extra hour away from my weekend chores worthwhile. But, as usual, he was right. Buried off in the woods of Orange, Ma., this place is a step above the Walton’s saw mill.

Sign on the door.

Forty-eight inch saw blade. Where’s Nell?

View from the backside.
However, and this is where this ditty is going, what do you suppose was the first thing Mark did after he jumped out of my truck? It is such a typical guy thing .
It reminds me of the end of my Maine canoe trips with Dan, when he changed his shoes and socks in a restaurant in Millinocket. Might not look like much to a Bostonian, but it is a place where others enjoy food. Alright, it’s not an exact parallel…still.