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It was another relaxing weekend at the cabin, with lots of cousin love and lots of logging.  Sort of.

Let me explain.  You see, these guys, my husband, father- and brother-in-law, just love to cut down trees.  It's necessary, of course, but the necessity sure as heck doesn't negate the macho draw of the task, does it?  No.  So, with the-previous-owner's-half-busted-chainsaw-they-found-in-the-tool-shed in hand, the guys set out to cut a gigantic birch out of the way of our sunlight.  Which they did to approximately 93% completion before the last half of the chainsaw pooped out and they were forced to drive in to town to buy a new one.  Meanwhile, we ladies and baby were under strict instructions to stay indoors as there was basically just a toothpick-worth of wood holding a several-hundred-pound, hundred-foot-long tree from crashing down on one of us at the slightest breeze.  And wouldn't you know it, while they were gone a slight breeze came and the birch came tumbling down across the yard.  There was no damage to person or property, thank goodness, but they didn't know that.  Heh.  Sarianne came up with the brilliant idea to drag the tree closer to the house and really give the boys a spook, so she and Mama Swede and I headed out and learned how weak we really are / how heavy a gigantic birch really is.  After our initial plan failed we elected to knock over a bunch of nearby lawn furniture so that it looked like it had fallen closer to the house and we had then dragged it away.  We then waited in anticipation of their return and Phase Two of the plan.  When they finally arrived, we acted like we were totally ticked off, as though we felt like we were in danger.  I tried to work up some tears, but it's been too long since my theatre days.  I cursed instead.  And, yeah, they didn't care.  Which actually did tick me off a little bit, but whatever.  They were the ones who had to spend the rest of the day sawing it into firewood.