A most unusual stateof affairs will prevail for the next week here at the homestead. I live in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I own eleven acres and built in the middle of it some 25 years ago. Half of the property is older deciduous trees, but the area of my home is mature pines.

The unfortunate thing about that is that mature pines are a "succession forest". That is a technical term that translates to "they fall over" to make way for the next stage. The last few years they have been doing that more and more and it has been getting quite dangerous.

So, for the last two days and for the next week, a gang of a half-dozen GOBs (Good Old Boys) wielding chainsaws and riding two dinosaurs, are removing four acres surrounding my home. Inside the house, my wife and I and six cats and dogs are holed up.

The constant noise is a big stressor, as you may imagine. What may not be obvious, however, is that the sharp crack - swish - crash of a big tree coming down is one of those hardwired things that sends a jolt of adrenaline through you no matter how many times you hear it. In the real world it denotes extreme danger to any creature within earshot.

So, I am hiding in a pair of earphones and trying to convince the dogs that there is no problem. Their response is "Are you nuts?!"

Fortunately, it is a good crew. Four generations with sixty years experience. This particular crew is led by the "baby" of the family who started 30 years ago at the age of seven. "Wimpy", as he is known of course, looks like a 300 pound bowling pin who just fell victim to an exploding cigar. While he might frighten you in an alley, in reality he speaks slowly and softly and has a sense of kindness about him. Wimpy is of the lower classes that society takes for granted but could not exist without. He will die young, if not from his work then from his ignorance of diabetes or heart disease. The work is incredibly dangerous and he clears about a hundred dollars a day. Life sux. In a sense, our entire society is hiding.