Burnham
Woods walker
Me too, Justin...if not, I'd have long ago been toast.
August Hunicke Essays etc.
- Thread starter August Hunicke
- Start date
- Replies 106
- Views 17K
rskybiz
TreeHouser
Great reads August and Butch!
SouthSoundTree-
TreeHouser
- Joined
- Sep 24, 2014
- Messages
- 4,941
Thanks for the stories!
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #55
Yes ste, but complacency is always lurking and occasionally reaches out and takes hold of me. Sadly,I have many other near death stories. I am probably not that bright when it comes to learning from the past. my own children are so much different than me. They are so teachable where I have always been overly brazen and rebellious.
Mick!
TreeHouser
I have had many little escapes, one of which I mentioned about coming down a a rope with a prussik or blakes, I cannot remember which, and realizing I had cut my rope and luckily not coming off the end at 30 ft up.
There have been others, all due to rushing, and you know what? I cannot stop rushing! Something about the saws screaming, chipper roaring and burning diesel and groundsmen waiting down there, lazy bastards! (They're not lazy of course but I'm a bad tempered werewolf up a tree)
Plus there's always the lure of the little $€200 job down the road (which will turn a good day financially into a great day) waiting to get done if we can just knock this job off early.
Can't earn much in hospital as I've found out.
There have been others, all due to rushing, and you know what? I cannot stop rushing! Something about the saws screaming, chipper roaring and burning diesel and groundsmen waiting down there, lazy bastards! (They're not lazy of course but I'm a bad tempered werewolf up a tree)
Plus there's always the lure of the little $€200 job down the road (which will turn a good day financially into a great day) waiting to get done if we can just knock this job off early.
Can't earn much in hospital as I've found out.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #57
Incredible, it was as if you were describing me! I can move around slow and deliberate on the ground. Even working, even tree falling but as soon as I enter the tree it's werewolf time. By the way, in 95, I shot through a cut rope using a taut line hitch and fell 40 feet.
biggun
Monkey for Hire
Just caught up on this thread. Thanks for taking the time. A couple of good reads so far. Looking forward to more. 
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #59
It's mostly done, I am a relentless editor. I can literally edit for years but ironically, I don't really know how (punctuation etc.)
The backstory on this one. . . My first wife and I had been together 11 years. One month after my daughter was born, (the girl in the story) I finally quit the party life. My career was taking off and my skills in the trees were solid and lucrative.
Right around my daughters 3rd birthday, her mother left us and began her own party life in CA. She didn't return for years. Only within the last couple years has her mother been beaten enough by the world to return and is now productive and back in the life of her daughter (joint custody now.) My daughter is 17 now. I'm writing this essay about my morning routine as a single dad back then (it was 5 years before I remarried.) They were some of the greatest and most memorable years of my life as I immersed myself in the love and care of this little girl who should have had two parents. I kept climbing trees, slaying dragons by day, and having tea parties by night.
Precious Moments by August Hunicke
Eyeing the clock, I place her clothes on the arm of the chair and walk down the hall. The keeper of my heart lies waiting, I must gather her up to face the day. Her eyes are closed, but overly so. She's making it very clear she's asleep. Her lids flutter, so fair and white with the exertion of her bluff. I let her fool me and scoop her up. Her hair smells faintly of watermelon shampoo as she rests her pillowy cheek on my shoulder, making the effort less for her left eye as her tender cheek scrunches up to meet it. I don't have to see to know that her right eye now steals a look over my shoulder at the receding hallway. A perfect blue-gray sphere, like the daytime sky before summer lightning, graces the familiar corridor.
I carry her with ease to our sitting chair, her tiny body so warm against me. Sitting down in denial of the approaching day, I struggle to capture the moment as the relentless sun climbs.
The ticking of the clock is in perfect timing with her precious heartbeat as the refrigerator softly purrs. If only I could sit here with her longer. If only our moments were more frequent. If only the clock wasn't so demanding. If only it would wait, just once, so I could better capture the moment.
The same bird chirps its greeting outside. It welcomes her to the new day. In her sweet simplicity she has named him "the early bird". He is right on time with his song, and she lifts her head from my shoulder and looks into my eyes. Her blue-gray orbs sit perfectly round in their appointed place. Her skin is white, exquisitely so, as if to reflect the purity of her heart. Surrendering momentarily to the tranquil hypnosis of the clock, she closes her eyes. Sleepy, ivory lids, momentarily capture the lightning sky beneath.
Her eyebrows, a rich golden brown, are a shade lighter than her shimmering hair. Her lashes, long and curving, rise up to meet her brows as she opens her eyes.
The refrigerator vanishes and the clock stumbles as her beautiful voice enters the room.
"Fimming lessons?" she asks.
"Yes honey".
"Today is toosday?"
"Yes honey".
This is her way of saying we can get ready now. She knows the sun is relentless. She knows the clock will demand our separation, nevertheless, she pulls rank on them every morning by giving me her permission to face their tasks.
"Will you make me a liddle lunch?" Her voice bubbles past her pretty pink lips, giving life to the quiet air around us, it's timbrel sound is like a little rocky brook, sculpted further with sunshine and butterflies. Its easy to see why the early bird so loyally serves her.
"Of course honey", I say, "your lunch is by mine in the fridge".
I reach over and take hold of her hairbrush and spray bottle to wet her hair. The water is warm so as to lessen the chance of a wince. Her hair is nothing less than spectacular in the madness of its curls. They spiral forth at random; reckless ringlets, each to their own way, they define beauty as a group.
I finish her hair by tying the top up into a little fountain. It rises up out of the middle of her scalp and cascades into untamed ribbons of curl. Securing the spout at its base is a small pink butterfly; further matching the beauty of her voice.
"Arms up", I say, and she raises her tender arms over her head. Little dimpled elbows, beautiful in their precious youth, become lost in the mane of her hair. The pajama top tousles her chestnut curls, exaggerating the size of her head against her snow white frame. The arm of the chair patiently holds the wardrobe of the day as I ponder her beauty.
Having donned complete her outfit, she steps back from the chair and awaits my customary and unchanging approval.
"You look most elegant today miss Hannah", I say, with a slight tip of my head.
"Bruff teeth", the fluting sound of her voice proclaims the next step.
"Race you there", I say, and fall into my permanent position of second place. Tiny pink sneakers, doubtless of their imminent success, charge down the corridor. I stomp my giant feet close behind, validating the excitement of her victory.
Standing on the edge of the tub she checks my work in the mirror, her lips drawn back in an animated smile, exposing the perfect whiteness of little square pearls set evenly in gums the color of pink rose petals.
"Looks good", she pipes, to my reflection in the mirror. "Fimming suit?" she asks, as I slip the Barbie backpack over her confident narrow shoulders.
"Yup", I say.
"Fibe o clock?"
"Yup, I'll pick you up at auntie's", I tell her.
"I'm going to jump in today", she says.
"You are", I say, with genuine enthusiasm. "Your teacher will be so excited ".
" I dint want to afor", she explains, looking up at me, her tiny little chin barely jutting out from the roundness of her face.
"I knew you would when you were ready", I say. "I cant wait to watch you".
"I'm ready to splash in", she states, "I real am".
Smiling broadly, I kneel down in front of her to more closely capture the beautiful innocence of her enthusiasm. The smell of bubble gum toothpaste greets me as I gaze, smiling, at the soft fair features of her face.
She looks back at me and scrunches up her perfect round nose.
"Your teeth are yellow", she flatly states. I laugh suddenly at the inarguable honesty of her observation.
"Yellow's my favorite color", she adds, for no other reason than to state the truth.
"I love you so much", I say, as my laughter subsides.
"I love you too daddy". The irreplaceable sound of these words fills my heart with resounding love.
Handing her the "liddle" lunch, I stand up and close the refrigerator. As the insistent clock ticks on, she leads me past the comforting presence of the sitting chair to the door. This tiny precious being, immeasurably powerful in her fragility, owns my heart. Ever at her disposal, all the resources of a giant, lumber behind her.
Closing the door, and leaving the ticking taskmaster, we face the terms necessary for bringing about our next precious moments.
The backstory on this one. . . My first wife and I had been together 11 years. One month after my daughter was born, (the girl in the story) I finally quit the party life. My career was taking off and my skills in the trees were solid and lucrative.
Right around my daughters 3rd birthday, her mother left us and began her own party life in CA. She didn't return for years. Only within the last couple years has her mother been beaten enough by the world to return and is now productive and back in the life of her daughter (joint custody now.) My daughter is 17 now. I'm writing this essay about my morning routine as a single dad back then (it was 5 years before I remarried.) They were some of the greatest and most memorable years of my life as I immersed myself in the love and care of this little girl who should have had two parents. I kept climbing trees, slaying dragons by day, and having tea parties by night.
Precious Moments by August Hunicke
Eyeing the clock, I place her clothes on the arm of the chair and walk down the hall. The keeper of my heart lies waiting, I must gather her up to face the day. Her eyes are closed, but overly so. She's making it very clear she's asleep. Her lids flutter, so fair and white with the exertion of her bluff. I let her fool me and scoop her up. Her hair smells faintly of watermelon shampoo as she rests her pillowy cheek on my shoulder, making the effort less for her left eye as her tender cheek scrunches up to meet it. I don't have to see to know that her right eye now steals a look over my shoulder at the receding hallway. A perfect blue-gray sphere, like the daytime sky before summer lightning, graces the familiar corridor.
I carry her with ease to our sitting chair, her tiny body so warm against me. Sitting down in denial of the approaching day, I struggle to capture the moment as the relentless sun climbs.
The ticking of the clock is in perfect timing with her precious heartbeat as the refrigerator softly purrs. If only I could sit here with her longer. If only our moments were more frequent. If only the clock wasn't so demanding. If only it would wait, just once, so I could better capture the moment.
The same bird chirps its greeting outside. It welcomes her to the new day. In her sweet simplicity she has named him "the early bird". He is right on time with his song, and she lifts her head from my shoulder and looks into my eyes. Her blue-gray orbs sit perfectly round in their appointed place. Her skin is white, exquisitely so, as if to reflect the purity of her heart. Surrendering momentarily to the tranquil hypnosis of the clock, she closes her eyes. Sleepy, ivory lids, momentarily capture the lightning sky beneath.
Her eyebrows, a rich golden brown, are a shade lighter than her shimmering hair. Her lashes, long and curving, rise up to meet her brows as she opens her eyes.
The refrigerator vanishes and the clock stumbles as her beautiful voice enters the room.
"Fimming lessons?" she asks.
"Yes honey".
"Today is toosday?"
"Yes honey".
This is her way of saying we can get ready now. She knows the sun is relentless. She knows the clock will demand our separation, nevertheless, she pulls rank on them every morning by giving me her permission to face their tasks.
"Will you make me a liddle lunch?" Her voice bubbles past her pretty pink lips, giving life to the quiet air around us, it's timbrel sound is like a little rocky brook, sculpted further with sunshine and butterflies. Its easy to see why the early bird so loyally serves her.
"Of course honey", I say, "your lunch is by mine in the fridge".
I reach over and take hold of her hairbrush and spray bottle to wet her hair. The water is warm so as to lessen the chance of a wince. Her hair is nothing less than spectacular in the madness of its curls. They spiral forth at random; reckless ringlets, each to their own way, they define beauty as a group.
I finish her hair by tying the top up into a little fountain. It rises up out of the middle of her scalp and cascades into untamed ribbons of curl. Securing the spout at its base is a small pink butterfly; further matching the beauty of her voice.
"Arms up", I say, and she raises her tender arms over her head. Little dimpled elbows, beautiful in their precious youth, become lost in the mane of her hair. The pajama top tousles her chestnut curls, exaggerating the size of her head against her snow white frame. The arm of the chair patiently holds the wardrobe of the day as I ponder her beauty.
Having donned complete her outfit, she steps back from the chair and awaits my customary and unchanging approval.
"You look most elegant today miss Hannah", I say, with a slight tip of my head.
"Bruff teeth", the fluting sound of her voice proclaims the next step.
"Race you there", I say, and fall into my permanent position of second place. Tiny pink sneakers, doubtless of their imminent success, charge down the corridor. I stomp my giant feet close behind, validating the excitement of her victory.
Standing on the edge of the tub she checks my work in the mirror, her lips drawn back in an animated smile, exposing the perfect whiteness of little square pearls set evenly in gums the color of pink rose petals.
"Looks good", she pipes, to my reflection in the mirror. "Fimming suit?" she asks, as I slip the Barbie backpack over her confident narrow shoulders.
"Yup", I say.
"Fibe o clock?"
"Yup, I'll pick you up at auntie's", I tell her.
"I'm going to jump in today", she says.
"You are", I say, with genuine enthusiasm. "Your teacher will be so excited ".
" I dint want to afor", she explains, looking up at me, her tiny little chin barely jutting out from the roundness of her face.
"I knew you would when you were ready", I say. "I cant wait to watch you".
"I'm ready to splash in", she states, "I real am".
Smiling broadly, I kneel down in front of her to more closely capture the beautiful innocence of her enthusiasm. The smell of bubble gum toothpaste greets me as I gaze, smiling, at the soft fair features of her face.
She looks back at me and scrunches up her perfect round nose.
"Your teeth are yellow", she flatly states. I laugh suddenly at the inarguable honesty of her observation.
"Yellow's my favorite color", she adds, for no other reason than to state the truth.
"I love you so much", I say, as my laughter subsides.
"I love you too daddy". The irreplaceable sound of these words fills my heart with resounding love.
Handing her the "liddle" lunch, I stand up and close the refrigerator. As the insistent clock ticks on, she leads me past the comforting presence of the sitting chair to the door. This tiny precious being, immeasurably powerful in her fragility, owns my heart. Ever at her disposal, all the resources of a giant, lumber behind her.
Closing the door, and leaving the ticking taskmaster, we face the terms necessary for bringing about our next precious moments.
CurSedVoyce
California Hillbilly
Well that brought some tears right there.
pantheraba
More biners!!!
You have captured and shared so many wonderful elements of what a relationship with a child can be...all of that resounds soundly with me as I think of my two children...now 31 and 28 years old.
I think you will experience all that and more with your grandchildren. You have the ability to not only feel the love but to recognize the elements of that feeling. Being able to use words to share such emotion and awareness with others is almost miraculous to me...thanks for "putting it out there" for us to reflect upon...and maybe help us slow down and enjoy our unique situations before they are gone.
You had yeoman's duty raising your daughter solo...seems it fit you well.
I think you will experience all that and more with your grandchildren. You have the ability to not only feel the love but to recognize the elements of that feeling. Being able to use words to share such emotion and awareness with others is almost miraculous to me...thanks for "putting it out there" for us to reflect upon...and maybe help us slow down and enjoy our unique situations before they are gone.
You had yeoman's duty raising your daughter solo...seems it fit you well.
MasterBlaster
Administrator Emeritus
TLDR
Bullcrap, I read it - awesome!
Bullcrap, I read it - awesome!
FireFighterZero
Captain Zero!
Very good August. I need to work on enjoying the moment.
Well said Gary.
Well said Gary.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #64
I have to look "yeoman" up, Gary. Thanks for posting back so many thoughts. Yes, it seems like grand children will be a truly amazing experience.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #65
I haven't always known how to enjoy the moment, that's for sure. it's a whole new essay to explain when I first started doing that.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #66
Thanks Butch
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #67
Wow, a lot of crickets after that last essay. . . I guess the tree guys are a rough crowd.
MasterBlaster
Administrator Emeritus
Crickets?
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #69
Not you Butch. I guess you're one of the not-tough ones like me 
MasterBlaster
Administrator Emeritus
I can kick many an ass, I just don't understand the crickets reference.
Joezilla11
TreeHouser
No ones commenting-it's quiet u can hear the crickets. I didn't realize there was another ill have to read it
FireFighterZero
Captain Zero!
Let the record show that I commented!
No crickets here!
Actually, I have been thinking about my relationship with my two kids a lot after reading your essay August. I need to work harder.
No crickets here!Actually, I have been thinking about my relationship with my two kids a lot after reading your essay August. I need to work harder.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #73
I know you don't like when I quote everything so I thought I would quote this just to piss you off a little bit. … But I thought I had originally heard the crickets expression from you.
August Hunicke
TreeHouser
- Thread Starter Thread Starter
- #74
LOL at "let the record show." By the way, good job, it's an ongoing struggle to redeem the time.
SouthSoundTree-
TreeHouser
- Joined
- Sep 24, 2014
- Messages
- 4,941
Thanks, August.
