Hi, it's Major. The best way to support the slowdown is with a monthly gift.

Show your love for the slowdown and help us plan for the future today at slowdown show

dot org slash donate.

I'm Major Jackson and this is the Sloane.

The Sloane. This summer I purchased loppers and a chainsaw.

Overgrown branches block my view of mountain ridges across the valley,

enough for me to take action.

After grabbing a box from the top shelf,

a worker at my village hardware store said,

aren't you the poet? I said, yeah. He said, um, be careful.

My wife thought I'd lost my mind,

accused me of believing I can do anything. I told her I can never play the violin, but

trimming a few limbs of a maple tree? Easy peasy. Her real concern was my safety. So I spent the morning reading safety instructions.

Then I donned my flannel shirt from Lawson's brewery, boots, gloves, protective goggles, and went to work.

I have to admit, I love the rev of the power tool in my hands.

Something surged through my arms. I felt rugged.

Watching the limbs topple wasn't enough. The buzz got to my head. I became addicted and searched the yard for saplings, small trees, old logs. I rarely tap into this space of my manhood. I never felt

brawny reading books, but this? I wanted to see myself in this light of masculinity.

I called to Diddy.

She stepped out onto the deck.

Her face had the look of someone who has stumbled upon roadkill, lots of roadkill.

Half the yard was mangled, and there I was, buzzing tooled in my hands, snarling with power saying, take a picture.

...