Every year, thousands of trees fall in this forest. My job is to make sure someone is there to hear them when they do.

It’s as glamorous a career as the one those hoity-toidy fire lookouts in their big fancy towers have. It takes hard work, dedication, and a keen ear to do this job. But you’ve gotta have heart, too. You have to care, really care about what goes on here on the forest floor.

Every one of these trees is like a roommate I was really close to back in college to me. If Greg Thornbatch fell over during a keg stand, I made darn sure I was there to hear him, to console him, to drag him out of that party and apologize on his behalf for embarrassing the host. That’s almost exactly what I do for these great green hulking plants you see around me. Without the party bit, of course. And the beer. Well, there’s some beer. A guy gets thirsty out here listening for trees to fall. But being there after it happens? It lets the trees know that they’re important, that someone thought enough of them to be at their side when the end came. It may not be flashy, but it’s rewarding as hell.

And then I chop them up and sell them by the chunk as firewood out of the back of my truck when I drive into town. Heck, that’s more than I can say I did for Greg Thornbatch. Legally, I mean. At least until the trial is over.

Wear this shirt: if you’re a lumberjack and you’re okay.

Don’t wear this shirt: if you’re still making “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” jokes in public.

This shirt tells the world: “It’s fallen and it can’t get up.”

We call this color: Down Where The Green Grass Grows

Back to top