Tree Farming

My first job away from home was working at a tree farm. I got the job through a classmate, who told me they would hire anybody. Not sure what I was being told beyond an available job, but I went and worked.

Back at that time places like tree farms often hired what was known as ‘casual labor’. All you needed to work was a social security number so they could send in the FICA taxes. There were no interviews. Everyone who showed up by seven o’clock got to work. Show up late and you probably wouldn’t, as all of the crews would have already left.

Pay Day was whenever you wanted it. Some worked all day and took their pay upon leaving. Others took their pay once or twice a week, as they needed the money. Perhaps there were a few who delayed more than a week, but these would be rare.

There were two groups of people who worked this particular tree farm. The one group consisted of school age workers from high school or college, collecting money over the summer holiday, or on weekends during the school year. The other group consisted of middle aged men. Many of these looked like men who were solely interested in acquiring enough money for another bottle of wine, or whatever.

If I remember correctly, the pay was $1.50 per hour. You had your crew foreman fill out your hours at the end of the day and then turned in the card, stating whether you wished to be paid or wait.

There were several types of crews, but I was only ever assigned to two. One truly s*cked. That consisted of standing out in the hot sun hoeing and plucking weeds from around small seedlings. We were put on a large wagon and towed out to the fields and dropped off at various places in twos and fours. Even for me, who prefers hot and humid days to any other, standing in a field without any shade was wearing. The only drink was what one had in their thermos. Bathrooms were the hedge rows, kept to prevent wind and rain erosion. The second crew shift was better in most ways, but it was also a bit more dangerous. It was the Pole Plant.

The Pole Plant was where they took trees which had grown too thick to sell anymore, stripped them of their branches, and then ran them through a de-barker to create fence posts. There were various stations here, including removing the branches, hauling trees to be de-branched, de-barking trees, and hauling posts. The hauling jobs required knowledge of construction equipment. I never got to do that. Neither did I get to do de-branching. I worked in the de-barking area.

This was nice in that it was under a roof, allowing the work to continue in rain and snow. It was not nice in that it was an assembly line which never stopped until lunch and the end of the day. There were four positions, and only the two end got to rotate. Position One was the machine operator. Position Two worked at helping the machine operator feed the tree trunk into the lathe type thing. Position Three kept the tree trunk straight and went around to collect the post and toss it on the completed pile. The final position, Position Four, grabbed the next tree trunk and put it on the conveyor belt and made sure the end didn’t swing about and kill someone. It wasn’t easy and required a strong hand. Being the largest person on the line meant I usually got this job.

The job was not entirely safe. Relax your hold on the end and it just might swing up and cave in your head. I found that out early on, being fortunate enough to only get smacked in the chest. An advantage of being tall I guess. Still, it hurt, and the line had to be shut down until I was able to get back on my feet. Nobody felt sorry for me, though. They were angry with me for risking their lives by being stupid.

There was a second danger to this position which I had not been warned about. Not having a lot of money I was not able to afford the nice leather gloves that everyone else had. So I had thick, woolen, gloves such as farmers used to use. After only two hours of holding trunks being spun down the conveyor belt the gloves began wearing through. They had holes in them. And every so often they would catch on a knot, or piece of bark. This was not a really big deal until one glove got caught especially tight. My entire arm was being pulled over and down as the trunk spun in a circle. I shouted, but the machine made more noise than a classroom filled with kindergartners. No one heard me. I had only a few seconds before my arm was bent in a manner not meant by nature. I pulled with all my strength.

It’s a scary thing, being pitted in a battle of strength with a mindless machine operating with endless power. I sometimes find myself wondering what would have happened had I been a smaller person. But although I wasn’t fat yet, I was very large. And very strong. For just a brief moment I managed to stop the turning. But whereas the machine could exert constant pressure, I could not. And when I was forced to relax the turning began again. So I pulled in a jerk motion and my hand came free. Without the glove. That went around and I managed to pluck it off when it came back.

I had to spend the rest of the day doing my job with one glove with holes in it. Within the next hour I had no gloves. I finished the day with blistered hands. I didn’t go back.

I think about that job now and realize that I now belong to the wino group, despite the fact I cannot imbibe alcohol. It’s work I couldn’t do anymore. Not that it matters. That tree farm hasn’t existed for a good many years.