If I remember correctly, my buddy John said freshly cut pine wood used to give him the willies.
If you've ever seen Band of Brothers--the shelling at Bastogne-- that's what he was into up north of the Bulge. The Germans were using their 88's to fire into the tops of the pines. He was dug in underneath. There was no escape, because the blast was coming straight down. You had the shells themselves to contend with as well as falling trees and getting skewered from broken limbs.
The other thing that he couldn't stand was freshly fallen leaves. I mentioned recently how he managed to walk into a minefield one day. He spent all afternoon retracing his steps.
John usually got squirrely right after Thanksgiving and would disappear until February. He usually ended up in Mexico, where he'd go and play at being a bad hombre until the demons quit. Then he'd go to Sebring and start catching the races.
