I Probably Should Have Died Then

Ever had one of those experiences that, while enjoyable at the time, makes you break out in cold sweats 12 hours (or 12 minutes) later upon reflection of the shear stupidity of the acts involved? These are those experiences.
Episode 2: That One Time The Tree Fell On Me

The Copperglow Compound is situated at the end of a cul de sac. This particular cul de sac ends high atop a hill and is surrounded by a few acres of wooded land. This wooded area has been beneficial over the years for two reasons:

1. It provides a certain level of privacy while lighting off illegal, Class A fireworks or while having drunken fiestas or any combination of the two.
   
2. It provides adequate fuel - in the form of wood - during the harsh Cincinnati winter when mom and dad refuse to turn the heat higher than the minimum temperature at which the pipes will not freeze and the stupid ducts leading to the bedroom I slept in did not work.
   

The one caveat is that the fuel doesn't come easy - a lot of hard, back-breaking labor would go into warding off hypothermia. We have an old, historic oak in the backyard that we can't touch because it's on the Cincinnati historic registry. Some of the chunks of wood that would fall off that puppy in severe storms couldn't be split for years. Endless mauls were ruined as the Heffernan boys honed their log splitting skills on log sections we called "Widow Makers" (the last of which Kevin and I split about 3 Thanksgivings ago. When Colin and Ted heard the news I thought they were going to cry because they missed out). I digress.

The particular incident that nearly claimed my life happened in the woods along the side of our house. Dad always hated it, but we had a knack for cutting down living trees (and thus promoting the eventual slippage of our home into Hunley St. below) because we couldn't stand waiting for another branch to fall off the protected oak. The tree we had decided to tackle this day was about 20ft tall and 10-12 inches in diameter. In other words, it was a fairly large tree. Certainly not the type of tree you would want to fall on you. Unfortunately, this tree fell on me. More specifically this tree fell right across my upper legs, pinning me to the ground in sheer agony. Here's how it went down.

We're not the most safety-conscious family - dad cutting dead branches off the oak with a chainsaw while perched precariously atop a ladder and roman candle dodgeball being two prime examples. I had taken a break from hacking the tree with our 50lb solid-steel maul and Colin or Kevin had begun swinging. I mosied a little further down the hill to partake in some vine swinging that had death drop (if you drop, you probably would die - I told you, not very safety-conscious). I started back up the hill when I heard the telltale cry, "Timber!" Now, usually, one would cry, "Timber!", just as the tree begins to tip. My jack-ass younger brothers decided to hold off on the perfunctory, "Timber!", until the tree was about 6 inches above my head. I feel back instinctively, relying on my cat-like reflexes, to avoid a direct blow to the head. The saved my precious face (that's the moneymaker, baby!) but threw me somewhat off balance. The tree initially struck me in the chest, knocking me to the ground. The tree then resumed its own fall, finally coming to rest across my thighs. First off, let me say that if there had been broken stumps or twigs sticking up from the ground I would have been impaled. This was a big f%^&ing tree. That being said, there is something inherently human wherein upon seeing someone rather seriously injured by way of rather humorous circumstances it's in our nature to laugh - think seeing someone get hit in the bag. My brothers laughed. They laughed hard. I cried. "What the f%^& are you laughing at? A f@#$ing tree just fell on me!", I said. They laughed harder. "Dudes, seriously, this isn't f$%^ing funny! I can't really feel my legs.", I said. They laughed even harder.

After 5-10 minutes of laughter at my expense and at which point my feet had fallen asleep (which was a good sign, since I could still feel them) my brothers set to the task of helping me out from under the tree. Thing was, Colin and Kevin couldn't lift the tree on their own. So Colin ran over to our neighbors, the Wolfers, to request the services of their friend Joey. Upon their return about 15 minutes later (I swear Colin must've stopped for a sandwich of something) they managed to lift the tree enough so that I was able to slide out from underneath it.

For about two weeks I had some pretty sweet bruising across my upper legs. When people asked what had happened I just shrugged and said, "Well, that's what happens when a tree falls on you."