You see that row of marigolds? Well, all along the right-hand side of that row a bunch of weedy elm trees once grew (and will grow again). There was also a wire fence into which the elm trees entangled themselves. So the morning began with long-handled loppers. Lop lop lop, down the fence line I go, cutting back branches. Then comes the enormous clamp and the steel chain. Then comes the bare-handed removal of boulders so that the clamp can get a good purchase on the trunks.
A piece of farm machinery near the chicken coop. What it does, I don't know. I only included this shot so that you could see the fence posts, stripped of their fencing. No longer do they stand where you see them. They currently lean against the backside of the chicken pen. If you are one of those readers who requires video proof, you can push the little triangle button and see for yourself. Not yet comfortable enough to take full frontal video of the patron, Stan, you literati out there will have to content yourselves with the back of his head as the tractor upon which he sits tugs out with ease yet another elm tree. As for me, there is nothing I enjoy more than total tree carnage at 8 A.M. on an empty stomach while a famous novelist and non-fiction writer/farmer sits comfy upon a tractor seat. Oops. Do I grumble? Hell no. The tree rip-out may have rendered me totally useless the next day, but I had a blast. Fuck trees. Long live sore muscles!