There is a giant pile of sticks in front of our house.
Actually, it’s a pile of branches that fell off of the beautiful trees that surround our home during the ice storm that hit us on Friday.
It was such a strange day, hearing the cracks of the trees and the branches falling to the ground. Opening the door, wondering where it fell. Hoping that nothing was crushed underneath. All day long.
Then, Saturday. Highs in the 60’s. Chainsaws were buzzing by 8 a.m. Neighbors helping neighbors. Pulling things down that were hanging. Cutting things up that were too big to carry. Dragging limbs and pieces of trees to the street. Everyone. Young and old. All day long.
Now we are left with a HUGE pile. Everyone has one. Ours is the biggest on the street, because we worked with our neighbors to create one pile. At the end of the cul-de-sac, there is only so much room for piles.
I look at that pile and think about how hard we worked. How much we all hurt on Sunday from the sheer labor of it all. How much pizza we all ate on Saturday night. In the dark. In one of our driveways with a folding table, a case of water, more than a case of beer, and a box of capri-suns.
We have pictures of ourselves in front of that big pile. Of our kids on top of it. That pile of sticks, branches, and trees will probably be there for a while. We live in a small town with one pick-up crew and one mulching truck. And everyone has one.
But ours is the best.