The Cherry Tree Part 2

My friend Dave and his wife depart early the next morning. They have a daughter to say good bye to, her job in the military has called her to war and a son to rescue from recession.
The cherry tree is now lying all over the front lawn. I have a simple task ahead of me, remove the small branches from the big branches and chip them in the electric chipper, remove the big branches from the logs and cut them up, finally, cut the logs into fire place sized chunks for the bloke up the road. I have three helpers for this task, daughters one, two and three. Two and three quickly tire of me ordering them around, fretting over their proximity the various implements I've arranged in the garden. They play in the camper van for a while, then head indoors to scatter toys about, argue and pester their mother. The oldest stays with me. She has been my companion for these kind of tasks on many occasions and now that she's older is able to actually help rather than talk relentlessly and move things around in a random manner. I have always loved these moments we share. The first one I can remember is the day I mowed the lawns and she followed my every step, pushing her little toy mower. She was maybe 3 or 4, she never gave up and we had milkshake when the task was done.
Work commitments have meant that I've had less time to spend with my girls this year and we've all missed each other. Breaking down the tree is potentially dangerous work. I'm specific about what she can and cannot do, she listens closely. I threaten her with loss of limb, mutilation and unnecessary dental work if she doesn't comply. She gives me her 'silly daddy' world weary look. She out grew me at the age of five I think. We work all day, with breaks for tomato soup, sandwiches and hot chocolate, which we consume sitting in the doorway of the camper van. We talk a lot. She cuts the power, for me, every time the chipper gets jammed and needs opening up. She puts her booted foot on wobbly branches to make it easier for me trim with the loppers. She lifts and carries and never complains. We clear the lawn of all the wood, then sweep the drive and stow the tools just as the sun starts to dip, turning the world pinky orange at our backs. Never have two lumberjacks (her words not mine) more deserved the roast chicken her mother had cooked for us that evening. My eldest daughter is an amazing person, I am lucky to know her. The same it's true of her mother btw, that chicken was fit for jehovah.