October in the North Country smells like woodsmoke and wet leaves, and the maples around Canton go from green to gone inside a fortnight. Woodchop Shop works among them — tree trimming, pruning, takedowns, and hauling off whatever comes down, along with the yard cleanups that follow. There is an old rhythm to it: the saw, then the quiet, then the sound of a round splitting clean on the first swing. A woodlot thinned with judgment grows better for it, and a yard cleared of deadwood stops worrying you every time the wind picks up. By the time the snow flies the ground is tidy and the stacks stand square.