Mountain Musings with Uncle Mott — I’m a Lumberjack and I’m OK

May 14, 2025 | Uncle Mott

Person standing under Mottsville sign outdoors.

What with a constant convoy of commercial, conifer-killing, Edison-approved bucket brigade trucks barreling down my street whilst they kill every living tree in sight, guided by a lumberjack in an orange vest who doesn’t want to get run over or bopped on the cranium with a pinecone or tree branch, how am I supposed to navigate the Mottmobile between Point A and Point Z, wherever that is, without getting bopped by a falling limb or misdirected chainsaw?

Not to change the subject, but since we’re talking about Edison, why can’t they put their dang powerlines underground, so they can leave our trees alone to produce oxygen for all rest of us folks to breathe? Why, Mister Edison himself would be rolling in his grave if he knew all this fuss about powerlines and trees was going on. And, let’s face it, he’s already underground, so I’m pretty sure he would understand.

Anyway, getting back to what to do about getting around town… OK, let’s say I‘m headed down Lake Drive through the middle of Lake Gregory Village and encounter this sort of conundrum, which is quite likely, so I duck down a less crowded parallel street like Straight Way or Springwater Road. If it’s Crest Forest Drive, you can detour down Scenic, or if it’s through Top Town, you can usually ziggy down Fern.

If you’re cruising down Highway 138 toward VOE, there’s almost always a bucket brigade all the way down to Magic Seven Market, so why not duck down Balsam Lane, Kay Road or Brookside? However, if you’re in Lake Arrowhead or Running Springs, I can’t help you much, so use your imagination, or ask Alexa or the nearest lumberjack to guide you.

I’m a lumberjack and I’m OK, I sleep all night and work all day, I cut down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra. I wish I’d been a girlie, just like my dear Papa. He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps, he likes to press wildflowers, he puts on women’s clothing and hangs around in bars. (“The Lumberjack Song,” Monty Python, 1969)

Keep it flyin’,
Uncle Mott

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