North of Boston

THEY aint much happened sence the last writing.

Few weeks ago an extra rugged character what runs a saw mill come to see me. He looks and talks just like he was a actor in a movie about logging, but this guy he aint acting. He wants to buy sum extra big hard pine to saw some barn sills on a rush job.

Driv to a timber lot and put the jeep into low low frunt wheel drive and went down an old road. Then we lit and trod around for half an hour. We see plenty of big pine. This character allowed as how they was just what he wanted.

We come to a big clearing and slumped down onto the moss and pine needles and lit up. Very nice and poetic with the setting sun slanting in and the usuwil liquid note of the usuwil hermit thrush in the quiet air.

I ast him what he would give. He shakes his head "Deals off. Dont want 'em."

I started to get mad. He shhhes me and points around in a circle.

"See them yung pine. You never notissed them at awl and I never see them till just now. For every big tree we drop we'll smash ten of them little fellers. You got a boy. I got a boy. Mebbe your boy will sell them to my boy thirty years from now when you and me is gone."

I know awl this sounds just too pat to be true. But that is exactly what that character sed. We went back to the jeep, fired it up and went elsewhere.

I wisht sum of you fellers could of ben along. You might of liked it.