An afternoon chopping logs at my dad's wood. This pile will do me for about
half of next winter. Charlie found a fox to chase and something to roll in.
'Dad, are you a forester, woodsman or an arborealist?' Apparently he's a
forester. And I think it's arborist rather than arborealist. Guy in the
field next door shoots the pheasants, my dad feeds them to keep them off the
land and save them from being shot. Quite partial to pheasant though myself.
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