Made for This … by August Hunicke

I’m an arborist, I was made for this

On the day I was born, it was hard to miss

I rappelled out, the doctors record

With a friction-hitch on my umbilical cord

I could run before the age of one

And I was already collecting scars

Cause the fridge ain’t that high if you’re willing to die

Climbing for cookie-jars

Mama’s hair turned gray in a matter of days

Chasin’ my diaper bottom

But it turned white overnight, when I climbed outa sight

One windy day in autumn

You see I caught a reflection will stealing confections

From the highest shelf in the cupboard

A mirrored sway in the candy tray

Of something I’d not yet discovered

In a chocolatey haze I slowly lifted my gaze

To the window I turned my attention

It was a magical scene, so tall and so green

And it’s limbs seemed to beckon ascension

Risking another suture I lept for my future

And caught the line of the window blind

I rode it down as the blinds bunched up like a curtain rising on fate

And hit the ground, dodged a sippy-cup, and headed for the child gate

It wasn’t long after then that mom came in

And saw the scene in horror

Of a chocolate tin

And a me shaped hole in the screen door

Yep, that was the sight that turned her hair white

Because she knew what I had found

Sorry mommy, but my first word was tree

And when I found it, I never came down

Because I’m an arborist, I was made for this

Watch the sawdust fly with a flick of my wrist

And I’m not alone, not the only one known

To love the sound of hinge-wood moan

Search the earth and you’ll find from birth, others just like me

An uncommon breed with a burning need to rock the canopy

You’ll know him when you see him, though you might not want to be him

He’s the fearsome spectacle, with the extra testicle

He’s like no other thing, indeed he’s the king

You won’t find him by looking down

But look up, cha-ching, that’s him swinging in the crown

He’s a primate with a climbing fever

With teeth of Stihl, a trees just a meal

You might call him a monkey-beaver

Yep, to say the least we’re the king of beasts

From south to north and west to east

My claws are gaffes but don’t you laugh

I’ve had squirrels ask for my autograph

I hesitate to insinuate that we never rest on our laurels

I won’t quarrel, we could improve our morals

And there is a common theme with my team

The ones who’ll climb and cling, to high rockin’ spars

Are often seen, the night before, out hoppin’ bars

Whether up a tree or downin’ whiskey, we’re prone to get high one way or another

It’s not unlike the little tyke in a shirtless sugar-rush, stealing cookies from his mother

And don’t hate if I exaggerate, my kind’s known to brag

But you’ll find it hard looking down on us, when we’re climbing up your snag

So pardon my flaws, but I’m known more for saws than civics

Don’t care much for rules, except the laws of physics

And a face unshaven aint outa place in the places I’m braven’

So if the man driving wedges is rough ‘round the edges, its ok, we don’t need to be Quakers

Having said all that, I’ll agree sober’s where it’s at, when dodging widow-makers

And speaking for me, I’m now free of the bottle and have conviction

That my brothers in the trees, if need be, can also be free of addiction

We live and we sweat under constant threat of gravity induced demise

Let that be our thrill and not be killed by chasing after lies

We’ve got it made, got the greatest trade, I can’t believe they pay me

For being a kid, doing what I did, back when I was a baby

I’m an Arborist, I was made for that twisted backyard beast

I’m the yen to it’s yang and I’ll be that till I’m deceased

So now let me shout to the world throughout, and call-out to my clan

This rhymes about you, holler back, I know you understand

You’ll know who you are, if you’ve wrecked out a spar, with sawdust in your face

Or admiring the view, had a bird land next to you, not expecting you in his place

But it’s your place too, what you’re born to do, following after passion

You’re one of the few, through and through, you’re doctor and assassin

They’ll point to a spot and ask if you’ve got, what it takes to put it there

And with a secret prayer, you’ll miss the house by a hair, and when they’ve changed their underwear

You’ll just smile, and in your helmet-hair style

You’ll say what we all say, “An inch is as good as a mile.”

So I’m calling my tribe, the ones who subscribe to life with saws and saddles

I don’t know all your names, but I know, a-lot of your battles

I know the ropes, and the broken hopes, and comebacks, I’ve had a few

Broken homes and broken bones can be good teachers too

I’ve been a Jedi and a fool, but when I come home from hard-knock-school

My kids hug the smell, of exhaust mixed with cedar

And it’s good for a tree, and family, to have a strong central leader

That can shoulder the load and live by a code and know when to tend some slack

Because the best rides of our lives begin the moment we give it back

Yeah, I know Blake and Spider-Jack, and they know DRT

So if you know them, then shake my hand, I’m August Hunicke

I’m an arborist, I’m not meant merely to exist

I was made for the crown, of the tree of life

You get my gist?

I was made for this.