Men And Their Chainsaws...Part III

And so it began. The neighbor nodded at Dad and hopped up onto one end of the big Oak. He pulled once, twice, three times, and finally, the damn thing belched to life. The neighbor lined his saw up at the widest part of the fallen tree and began to slowly eat his way through the massive trunk. He kept looking at Dad, waiting on him to get started. As he reached the deepest part of the log his arms began to strain from the exertion of pushing the saw through. Sweat started to stain his overalls and beads of perspiration began to drip off the brim of his cap. The chainsaw began to whine, to sputter, to spit, until at last, it just stopped. Dad chuckled to himself, hopped up to where the neighbor had been sawing, pulled the string, and that new chainsaw roared to life. Dad pulled the brim of his hat low, chucked his cigarette towards the swollen creek, set himself and started to saw. Dad finished the cut that the neighbor had started and began to work his way up the log. From time to time you could see him glance at the neighbor who was struggling mightily to restart his saw which didn't seem to be cooperating. Finally, in exasperation, he threw up his hands in defeat and asked my father if he wanted to take a break. "Nah, that's all right," he said, "I'm just getting warmed up." As I look back on this memory with amusement, it was amazing just how prophetic Dad's statement was. Once he started to use that chainsaw, he never stopped. He cut everything. He trimmed all the limbs on the trees that surrounded the house. All of the wood from the Oak tree was sawed in perfectly measured lengths so they would fit precisely in the wood stove. Within a year's time, he had run out of things to saw, and the chainsaw was laid to rest. It was no longer needed, almost forgotten; in fact, Dad never used the saw again, until he moved to Georgia...