by Andy Betz

Harold made his living with wood. He cut down trees. He collected firewood. He shaped the pieces. He planed the planks. What Harold made from the wood he sold.

It was that simple. That is, until last week.

Harold took his son and axes, a chainsaw, and provisions for two for the weekend. His plan was to enter the aspen forest, cut as much as they could, and then direct a timber company to come by and clear all he fell.

If his plan worked, he was going to make it work every weekend. Each weekend bigger. Each weekend more profitable. His son, a viable mechanical engineer, was in need of tuition money. Harold, an aging woodworker, was in need of a retirement. The season scheduled 36 weekends of aspen cutting. Harold would need each and every one to live the life he always wanted.

On the first Saturday, Harold and his son rose at 3am, and began their six mile walk to the aspen forest. Harold knew once they arrived on the fringe, they would need to continue inward so as not to alert others of his plan and (obviously) remain invisible with his newfound source of revenue.

It was nearly 8 AM before Harold and his son found the perfect spot to commence clearing the trees.

So efficient was Harold with his chainsaw that by noon, he had used all of the gasoline they carried into the forest. Harold instructed his son to take the can, walk back home, and refill it for another’s day work. In the meantime, Harold would continue with his sharpened ax at an efficient, albeit slower rate.

Within an hour, Harold began feeling his age from decades hewing timber. He thought a small respite, a brief nap under the aspen canopy, was his right. Within minutes of leaning his ax among the newly fallen trees, Harold was asleep.

So peaceful was his slumber. So enticing was the space he selected. Harold felt the warmth of nature’s blanket envelope him, keeping him comfortable, keeping him nestled.

Unfortunately, the blanket of nature also kept him immobile. Also, it kept him silent.

Harrold knew of his son’s approach, but could not cry out. His distress came from his silence. His son could not find his father for all of the aspens now looked the same. Harrold’s son called out, but could not hear his father for all of the trees misdirected and diffused the sound to places without ears for reception.

Harold felt himself slipping, slipping away, further down, into the aspens. He began to feel a change. His clothes now look threadbare and worn. His skin began aging quickly. Soon, even Harold understood what was happening to him was what happened to all wood left out in the woods for too long.

Harold was decomposing.

Harold’s son made his report to the police that evening. The police began a search early on Sunday morning in the area Harold was last seen. They never found the trees Harold cut down. 

All they ever encountered were healthy, vibrant aspens everywhere. 

Almost as if they had just been fertilized.