A Tale For Father's Day

Growing up on the farm on Cherry Fork Road was a lot of fun. We raised tobacco, had a HUGE garden, dabbled in the hog business and had a few cows and chickens. We had a tractor, a wagon, and a manure spreader as well as various lawn mowers, rototillers and chainsaws. My dad loved his chainsaw. I don't remember what the name brand was but it was yellow and matched his pickup truck. Throw in a Kool cigarette dangling out of his mouth and a John Deere hat perched on his head and he was ready to do some sawin'. I remember the year my father got his new chainsaw. It was Father's Day, 1974, and let me tell you, that saw was needed. A late spring thunderstorm had blown through and there were trees everywhere. Trees across the road, trees down in the yard. It was like a tornado had come through. It wasn't that long after the storm had passed when you could hear the roar and the whine of the chainsaws as neighbors up and down the road got to work clearing a path. Dad wasn't one to be outdone by the Dotson's so he grabbed up my brother, the chainsaw, and a couple of axes and headed towards the road. Never one to be left behind, I decided to tag along. The destruction that this storm had caused was amazing. Big, bold and majestic trees had fallen victim to Mother Nature. I'm not talking about the scrub pines that are so prevalent where I live now; I'm talking about maples, poplars, elms, and sadly, the big oak tree in front of the barn. Strong, sturdy trees that were toppled like matchsticks. I started to follow Dad onto the road when I was quickly told to get my butt back up in the yard. This was no place for a kid and I was just going to be in the way. The road had begun to fill with the volunteers from the local fire department checking to make sure everyone was okay. Some power lines had fallen across one part of the road and traffic was being diverted around it. The major concern was the big oak tree; there was no way to go around it. You would end up in the ditch if you went one way or in the creek (which was flooded) if you went the other way. Gentlemen, start your chainsaws! 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. And he took the chainsaw with him. Dad never really used the saw that much in his first couple of years in Georgia; there really hadn't been a need for it. That is, until the late winter blizzard hit in 1988. It was like a northern snowstorm; almost 21 inches of snow fell in North Georgia. And to make matters worse, it started to thaw quickly and then froze again, and then everything was covered in a sheet of ice. That's when limbs started cracking, and branches started snapping, and before you knew it, any tree that was within 15 feet of a power line toppled to the ground. No lights. No furnace. No stove. No nothing. It didn't take long once things had settled down before the locals started to work on all of those fallen trees. Dad had gotten the old yellow chainsaw out of the storage building and it cranked on the first try. Dad was able to cut his way down the driveway and cut the limbs away from the power lines so the electric company could begin to restore the power to the area. The saw was over 14 years old and still worked like a top. After that, I'm not really sure what happened to the saw, it just faded from memory. Until a few weeks ago. Mom was having a yard sale and was cleaning out the old shed when she came across a familiar object. It was the old saw and it seemed in pretty good condition, so she put it in the yard sale to sell. It was late on Saturday evening and we had begun to put the things away that hadn't sold. An older gentleman in a beat up Chevy pickup pulled up in the driveway and asked if he could look around. We said sure and stopped what we were doing and watched the old guy browse what we still had left out. I didn't think he was interested in anything until he noticed the yellow chainsaw. My goodness...his eyes lit up, he picked up the saw, turned it this way and turned it that way. "What'cha want for this old saw?" he asked. "I had one just like it for over 35 years and it just cut out on me recently. It was the best dang saw I ever had." I looked over at Mom not exactly sure what she was going to say. "My husband loved that saw; we got that for him on Father's Day back in '74. I'll tell you what, since it's so close to Father's Day, I'll let you have it for free on one condition." "What's that?" he asked. "Use it," Mom said. "Yes, Ma'am," he said. And with that he pulled his hat down low over his eyes, lit himself a cigarette, and gave that cord a yank... Happy Father's Day!

Men And Their Chainsaws...Part IV

...and he took the chainsaw with him. Dad never really used the saw that much in his first couple of years in Georgia; there really hadn't been a need for it. That is, until the late winter blizzard hit in 1988. It was like a northern snowstorm, almost 21 inches of snow fell in North Georgia. And to make matters worse, it started to thaw quickly and then froze again, and then everything was covered in a sheet of ice. That's when limbs started cracking, and branches started snapping, and before you knew it, any tree that was within 15 feet of a power line toppled to the ground. No lights. No furnace. No stove. No nothing. It didn't take long once things had settled down before the locals started to work on all of those fallen trees. Dad had gotten the old yellow chainsaw out of the storage building and it cranked on the first try. Dad was able to cut his way down the driveway and cut the limbs away from the power lines so the electric company could begin to restore the power to the area. The saw was now over 14 years old and it worked like a top. After that, I'm not really sure what happened to the saw, it just faded from memory. Until a few weeks ago. Mom had been having a yard sale and was cleaning out the shed when she came across a familiar object. It was the old saw and it seemed in pretty good condition, so she put it in the yard sale to sell. It was late on Saturday evening and we had begun to put the things away that hadn't sold. An older gentleman in a beat up Chevy pickup pulled up in the driveway and asked if he could look around. We said sure and stopped what we were doing and watched the old guy browse what we still had left out. I didn't think he was interested in anything until he noticed the yellow chainsaw. My goodness...his eyes lit up, he picked up the saw, turned it this way and turned it that way. "What'cha want for this old saw?" he asked. "I had one just like it for over 35 years and it just cut out on me recently. It was the best dang saw I ever had." I looked over at Mom not exactly sure what she was going to say. "My husband loved that saw, we got that for him on Father's Day back in '74. I'll tell you what, since it's so close to Father's Day, I'll let you have it for free on one condition." "What's that?" he asked. "Use it," Mom said. "Yes, Ma'am," he said. And with that he pulled his hat down low over his eyes, lit himself a cigarette, and gave that cord a yank... Happy Father's Day!

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...

Men And Their Chainsaws...Part II

...trees across the road, trees down in the yard. It was like a tornado had come through. It wasn't that long after the storm had passed when you could hear the roar and the whine of the chainsaws as neighbors up and down the road got to work clearing a path. Dad wasn't one to be outdone by the Dotson's so he grabbed up Brother, the chainsaw, and a couple of axes and headed towards the road. Never one to be left behind, I decided to tag along. The destruction that this storm had caused was amazing. Big, bold, and majestic trees had fallen victim to Mother Nature. I'm not talking about the Scrub Pines that are so prevalent where I live now; I'm talking about Maples, Poplars, Elms, and sadly, the big Oak tree in front of the barn. Strong, sturdy trees that were toppled like matchsticks. I started to follow Dad onto the road when I was quickly told to get my butt back up in the yard. This was no place for a kid and I was just going to be in the way. The road had begun to fill with the volunteers from the local fire department checking to make sure everyone was okay. Some power lines had fallen across one part of the road and traffic was being diverted around it. The major concern was the big Oak tree; there was no way to go around it. You would end up in the ditch if you went one way or in the creek (which was flooded) if you went the other way. Gentlemen, start your chainsaws!

Men And Their Chainsaws...Part I

Growing up on the farm on Cherry Fork Road was a lot of fun. I've mentioned before that we raised tobacco, had a HUGE garden, dabbled in the hog business and had a few cows and chickens. We had a tractor, a wagon, and a manure spreader as well as various lawn mowers, rototillers and chainsaws. Give a man a chainsaw and it's like giving candy to a fat kid. They don't know when to stop. My dad loved his chainsaw. I don't remember what the name brand was but it was yellow and matched his pickup truck. Throw in a Kool cigarette dangling out of his mouth and a John Deere hat perched on his hat and he was ready to do some sawin'. One of the stories he used to tell was how he cut fence posts with his brother for about 30 cents a day. They didn't have a chainsaw back then, they used an eight foot blade saw with a brother on each end. When it came time to do smaller logs, they would switch from saw to axe. My dad could swing a mean axe, his brother, not so much. In fact, the story goes that my uncle was swinging the axe and the blade flew off and cut my dad's little finger off. I'm not sure which pinkie it was because he had both of them cut off at different times. But that's a different story. Anyhow, I remember the year my father got his new chainsaw. It was Father's Day, 1974, and let me tell you, that saw was needed. A late spring thunderstorm had blown through and there were trees everywhere...

Somewhere Dad is Laughing...Lawnmower Blues...Part III

When spring approached this year, I decided that I was going to get the riding mower fixed. My brother had mentioned that he would put a new drive belt on it to see if that would make it work. After spending an entire afternoon working on the mower he was able to get it to run(with one condition.) No sharp turns while operating on an incline.(HHHHMMMMMM) It seems that something is bent somewhere and if you make a sharp turn on an incline the belt will slip off, thus locking down the wheels once again. (Oh boy!) Have I mentioned that I live at the bottom of a hill with pine trees and gopher holes everywhere? It is nearly impossible to avoid going uphill and not making any sudden turns. I usually mow every other Monday and have had only one episode with the mower this year. Since it was Father's Day, I thought it would be a nice tribute to Dad to mow the lawn on his special day. I was able to get it to back out of the building without too much effort.(Slight incline) The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining, a slight breeze was blowing the grass trimmings away from me, and I was chugging right along. I was mowing in the side yard which I havn't mentioned before because it requires only 3 or 4 passes with the mower. I turned around and all of a sudden it stops. I hadn't broken any of the rules. It wasn't on an incline and it wasn't a sharp turn. I had dropped it down into 2nd gear on the turn because it was a tight area to manuever in, wrong thing to do. The dang thing won't run in anything less than 3rd gear or higher(which can be alittle scary)sometimes. There I sat. The middle-aged fat woman proceeded to throw and pitch the biggest fit that I could possibly muster. Sailors were blushing! Toddlers were staring in awe that someone could behave worse than them. My cat slunk back into the house...and my Dad is laughing. I slammed that mower into 6th gear,(nothing) put it into reverse,(nothing) rocked it back and forth,(nothing) then it began to smoke. Good, I thought, blow it up. Then I'll go get a new mower. I began to calm down and realize that it wasn't going to work. I went over and sat on the porch wishing that Dad were here to give me a hand. I suppose about half an hour went by and I thought I would try one more time to get it to run. It cranked on the first try, I slipped it into 3rd gear, popped a wheelie and off I went, laughing and crying at the same time. I think it was Dad's way of letting me know that he will always be there, watching the wheels go by.

Somewhere Dad is Laughing...Lawnmower Blues...Part II

As the owner of the cheapest push mower available, I dread the day when I have to mow the grass. It usually takes at least 5 pulls on the cord before the engine will putter, stutter, strain, go BANG and then go POW. (This tends to make my nervous tic, tic twice as fast.) My arm is about to fall off, and I have rope burns on my arm from where the cord wouldn't pull out fully and has caused me to fall on the ground. (I think I remember this from my childhood.) As I allow myself the opportunity to cool both my temper and my body, my eyes slide over to the sparkling, gleaming riding mower with the numbly things still on the tires and my temper flares again. (Big piece of junk)(Why does everything have to be so hard?) I pull the cord once more and surprisingly the engine sputters to life. If I'm careful with the push mower I am able to mow in 10 minute increments before something causes it to cut off. Thus goes year 3 in the life cycle of my beautiful relatively new riding mower. It sits in the basement, wheels locked into place looking totally innocent while screaming "Sucker" to anyone who walks by. (Dad is saying somewhere, "That's my girl!")...to be cont'd

Father's Day...Watching the Wheels Go By

One thing that I enjoy doing now that I totally despised as a child was yardwork. I lived on a small farm with a big garden and an even bigger yard. Once the three of us got big enough(my brother, sister and me) it fell upon us to keep the yard mowed. I think we might have had a riding mower a few years, but it always seemed to be in disrepair or I wasn't allowed to use it. (Dad always rode it) I always had to use the push mower.(Yuck!) I think the hardest part of working the push mower was getting it to start. I only seemed to be able to pull the cord maybe halfway out and other times it wouldn't pull out but somehow lock itself down and you would fall on the ground completely annoyed at what just happened.(I'm sure that happened to many of you.) After several attempts of trying to start the mower to no avail, it's time to call in the big dogs: Dad. Well, you know Dad never had any problems cranking that mower. One pull and that motor would just roar to life and be ready to go. And off he'd go. Dad would make a couple of passes with the mower and hand it off to me. Problem solved and off he'd go, back to whatever he had been doing. But, here's the thing. He didn't leave. He would stay and watch me mow the grass. I'd look up and he'd be watching the wheels on the lawn mower turn. I would make the turn and head back the other way and I'd sneak a glimpse and he would be watching me. I'd make the turn again to come back and he'd be watching the wheels. (I didn't think wheels could be so exciting.) I used to tease him about watching the wheels and usually ended with a harump for my efforts. As this Father's Day approaches, I think there was more to it than just watching the wheels go by. I would like to think he was watching me and saying, "that's my girl, and I am proud of her. She is going to grow up and do marvelous things." Or maybe something similar to that. If he were here now, that might be something for me to ask, or maybe not. The simplest thing would be for me to say is, "keep watching the wheels Dad, keep watching the wheels."