Epic Fail: Stump Removal

When you grow up in the country surrounded by trees, every now and then, a tree in the front yard dies and you can either have this giant eyesore in the front yard or cut it down and remove it.

There are people (who you can hire) that make their living by stump removal, but my father has never been one to hire anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. So at the tender age of 11, I helped my father cut down a dead tree, which was easy, and then sliced it up so we had plenty of firewood for the winter.

When all was said and done, there was a stump in the front yard about 3-4 feet wide and about the same height. We began digging around the tree to get to the roots and start cutting them to remove as much of the large tree remains as possible.

Anyone who knows about trees, especially big trees, knows that they have an elaborate root system. Rather than finding 3 or 4 main roots, my father and I discovered a dozen or so thick roots in very difficult-to-get spots. Fortunately, neither of us lost a limb trying to get to the things.

What began as a delightful afternoon of father and son time, actually turned into a grueling 2-day journey into the very depths of the Earth. When all the roots were finally cut, there was a 5- to 6-foot-deep hole around the stump from which, for a small boy, it was very difficult to get out.

This was supposed to be the fun part. The stump was still rooted in some places (to which we couldn’t get) and it was heavy. So the only way my father could think of to get it out was to bring out the old Ford heavy-duty, tie a chain around the stump and attach it to the truck. We were going to have ourselves a little tractor pull.

My father and I sat in the front seat of the truck as my mother watched from the porch with the phone in hand to call an ambulance in case something went wrong. My dad put the truck into four-wheel drive and hit the gas. The truck lurched forward and then stopped. The stump didn’t budge.

He reversed it and tried again, but with the same result. We did this again…and again…and again and, eventually, the stump actually started to move a little. My dad had tremendous faith in the strength and durability of that truck. He decided the only way to get the stump to move was to reverse as far back as possible and take a run at it to wrench the stump from the ground. I had misgivings, but this was a fun ride for an 11-year-old.

My dad drove as far back as he could to provide the longest stretch he could. My mom went inside, phone still in hand. He put the truck into gear and gunned it. Once again, we lurched forward as the chain lengthened and tightened behind us. The truck came to an abrupt halt, but the stump had moved quite a bit, so dad just kept the gas on and hoped the truck would win in this battle against nature. But it didn’t. As the tires spun – tearing up the yard – the chain began to feel more stress than it could handle.

SNAP! The chain broke and, once again, this behemoth on wheels was moving forward much to the surprise of my father. We were barreling toward the house, but he slammed on the breaks before we actually hit it. The snapped chain was like a missile and dented his truck bed. And the stump? It was still there.

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