There’s a big wind blowing today. When the wind comes down off the mountains, the elevation change causes a paradoxical increase in temperature in a condition known as a “Chinook.” Supposedly that’s what we’ve got today. But after our little half-mile jaunt down to the end of the block and back just now, let me tell you, it felt anything but warm out there.
A couple of weeks back there was a similar big wind that, though it didn’t do much damage here in Denver, blew down trees in Colorado Springs. Below are some shots from the Old North End to give you an idea of the carnage that can come with a big wind.
Still Life With Fence.
Photo credit for all: Lisa Noll
When another old friend from the Old North End asked if I “still had access to a wood splitter” because “a neighbor’s tree fell in the backyard and there’s quite a bit of wood to take care of,” I replied with the name of a tree service guy I knew back before I retired from firewood cutting. And thereby hangs a tale….
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His name was actually Darrell Fortner, but his business was known as Dundee’s Tree Service. This was because the sandy-haired and sinewy Mr. Fortner bore a striking resemblance to movie star Paul Hogan of Crocodile Dundee fame. He even carried around a big buck-knife strapped to his belt just to cement the image. When snow would drift too deep for me to get in and out of the National Forest cutting area up in the high country – this usually came between Thanksgiving and New Year’s – I sometimes needed access to dried firewood on the flatland to keep my late-season firewood customers happy. And Dundee’s place out in Black Forest fit that bill to a T.
I still remember the first time I pulled up to the compound. A rusted-out bulldozer was parked just inside the front gate. Inside the perimeter fence, and surrounding the house, were big piles of un-split rounds cut to perfect 18″ firewood lengths. In some cases those piles went higher than the second story. On the crest of the roof stood a couple of peacocks, tails fanned out, making that unearthly screaming noise peacocks make when they’re aroused, angry, or just plain bored with life.
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Shambling out the front door, Dundee himself wore red suspenders. Despite the cold, he was shirtless and barefoot. He broke off an icicle from the eave of the roof and stuck it in his mouth like a lollipop. I swear I saw him pause to pee off the end of the porch, but I can’t be 100% certain. Sometimes memory plays tricks, you know?
What I do know for sure is that next to him snarled two of the largest, most ferocious mongrels I have ever seen in my life. They were restrained only by his easy command, “Stay.” I’ve got to admit, their lack of leashes coupled with bared canines left me feeling something less than sanguine. Dundee shooed the mutts back inside, closed the front door, then picked up and threw something brown – a shoe? – at the peacocks on the roof. His abrupt action blessedly silenced their inhuman screeching. Thank God for small favors.
He invited me in for coffee, but I politely declined. It was early still, before breakfast in fact, and I had a full day of splitting, stacking and deliveries ahead of me. I just wanted to get on with it. “Just as well,” he replied. “The missus is probably not dressed yet.” Was that a leer on his face? Hard to tell. Later, after doing my due diligence, I found out this was Dundee’s second wife, and she was an exotic dancer who hailed from somewhere warm in South America. Who knew the life of a humble woodcutter could be so exciting, eh?
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After the Black Forest fire in 2013, Dundee lost his house, his equipment, and presumably his peacocks. But his business was in trouble even before then. I mentioned before about doing due diligence. While doing so, I found out that the intrepid Mr. Fortner was being sued by one of his tree service clients who presumably took too long to pay, then took exception to the woodman’s method of past-due billing: Rather than rely on the fickle court system for enforcement, Dundee loaded up his trusty dump truck one starry December night with several tons of those perfect 18″ rounds and deposited them in the offenders’ front yard. Imagine the guy’s surprise come morning. Presumably he had no use for the firewood, and no splitter to turn the rounds into anything usable in any case.
I never found out the final outcome of the legal dispute. More importantly, I also heard no word on the sultry second wife. One can only hope she and Dundee are still together enjoying all the benefits of warmer climes. In my mind’s eye they recline on a white sandy beach somewhere, each sipping through a straw something sweet and colorful from a tall glass topped with an umbrella: No shirts or shoes required, no big wind in the forecast, and only a deep blue expanse to the horizon, unobstructed.
