Lumberjacks

Old Nehemiah was a Lumberjack. He chopped down trees all his life. He kept a sharp axe, never letting it go dull. He knew he'd be called to the Canadian Wilderness again. To the Trees. They were so incredibly tall, and with his axe, made them mere stumps in the ground. The hilt of his axe was made from one of those great trees. Woody was its name; chopping down trees day and night many, many moons ago. He's old now, arthritis wreaking havoc on his body; his prostate on life support; his bowels a horrific mess. Old Nehemiah and Woody have seen better days from the woodshed. The Woodshed has been their home for ages. In the middle of the forest, Nehemiah and Woody practiced their craft, honing their skills to become the best Lumberjacks the world had ever seen. The Woodshed has grown fond on their mind. As Old Nehemiah and Woody age, it becomes more their permanent home. Nehemiah is Old and Weak. He barely goes outside anymore. Only to take a squat if he didn't go in his pants first.

The Woodshed has kept Nehemiah's life as he has to Woody. The space is tight; a salvaged stove at least a hundred years old; a table and chairs made from some of Woody's earliest exploits; a straw bed, smelling like a barn. When Nehemiah finds the strength, he changes out the straw and other remnants. Nehemiah is a remnant of the Old Age. The Age of Ruggedness; the Age of Exploration and Self-Exploration; the Age of Prosperity; the Age of Youth. The Old Age has come and gone for Nehemiah; the New age never came for him. The Canadian Wilderness never called. The Trees never sang their lamenting ballads. The Old Age is Dead, leaving Old Nehemiah to fend for himself. No worries. Nehemiah was a Master of that Age, building all he's had up from scratch. He's survived snow storms, hail, wind, rain and the odd weather event to boot. He'll survive. He has too.

Nehemiah hears the Call to Survive loudly. There have been times in ages past that the Call was a Call of Destruction. A Tree that might have wanted to take Nehemiah with it. That terrible Call echoes around. It has gotten louder with each passing day. Nehemiah pays it no attention. He lives in an Age of No Age. He is immortal. In another Age, he might worry in either case. But this is that Age of No Age, where there are No Worries. It will all pass eventually.

But Nehemiah is old and weak. There was a time when he thought he was immortal, that nothing could harm him: trees, age, fire or even Woody. But Nehemiah has been harmed. Several trees have collapsed into the Woodshed. He is abysmally old. A Great Fire raged through the area, allowing Nehemiah and Woody to stake their claim. He wasn't old or weak then, putting Woody to his blisteringly fast and deadly art. Woody is silent in his place now. He may never know what it means to be alive again. Nehemiah hears Woody's last few calls but cannot answer, the pain in his jaw immense.

Nehemiah lays in his own place now. Thinking of the Ages Past and Present and Future. The Call of Destruction screams at Nehemiah, ringing in his ears. There is no Call to Survive now, absent since those Ages ago. Woody, the Trees, the Wilderness, Survival-- none call for him but the Call of Eternity.

Nehemiah closes his eyes and says a prayer. He was once immortal, but now mortailty beckons with its bony hand. Old Nehemiah was a Lumberjack. No one will ever know this. None except for God Himself. There is a new call now. God calls Nehemiah. He can't quite hear what God has to say, but He's Calling to Nehemiah. No. It isn't God. It's human. Crying.

Nehemiah groans, praying whoever is out there to hear him. He doesn't want to die alone, as long as there is someone there that would be with him in his final moments. The person-- people, quite a few from the way it sounds-- Call out to Nehemiah.

--John E. Lansing