Paul Bunyon in the Flesh

Donning loose slippers, a straw hat and worn gloves from FDR’s Public Works Program of the 1930’s this strong-willed senior refuses to sway back and forth gently in a rocking chair like most retirees his age. Instead, he goes in searching for odd jobs that nobody else wants to do or that would cost a small fortune to have professionals tackle. Jobs like chainsawing dead trees down and ridding hornets and other pesky vermin from homes and garages.

His modesty made sure that I didn’t post a picture of his face and I can’t tell you his name but he’s 81 yr. old and can climb a tree higher than Tarzan and chop wood faster than Paul Bunyon. Shorter in stature and older in age he was the first member of his family to earn a Ph.D and go on to teach physics for nearly half a century. The secret to his longevity - he’s feisty, stubborn and determined to go on living as if senior prom is right around the corner.

When I saw him swinging an ax at my neighbors dead maple in stifling hot heat last week I rushed out a big bottle of water to him. Surely I thought he could use some refreshments and while I was there I would help load his van with logs the size of Rhode Island.

“Nope, thank you Little Lady but I don’t need any of that. And I use the law of physics to roll these logs into my truck so I don’t hurt my back. I’m doing just fine.” said the old man in a proud gentle voice.

I thought about it - who was I to argue with a man who survived this long without Poland Springs?

I stepped back and gave him room to let the sawdust and woodchips fly. Down came crashing branches, loose limbs and empty birds nests from a tree that was hit by lighting this summer. I staired spellbound at the old man as he hacked through burned bark and leafless limbs letting the pieces scatter on the ground. I thought about how much that tree had survived - years of change and instability not unlike the old man wielding the ax infront of it. Suburban development, natural disasters and little creatures that burrowed inside it were no match for the tree’s or the old man’s tenacity and perseverance. And rather than drink the water I offered he insisted that I take a pint of fresh-picked cherry tomatoes from his garden.

Without a name or picture the old man (and the tree) had unexpectedly shared an important life lesson in growing old - kindness and resilience.