Musings: Chainsaws

~by Mark Blackwell

Some old wise man once said, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

I think that means, if you are in need and someone is willing to help you out, then you have a friend in deed. Here in Brown County I say, “A friend who will lend you his chainsaw is a rare and beautiful thing!” And if the rest of you don’t say that, well, you ought to.

When I was living in the backwoods of our fair county, I, like most of my forest dwelling friends, would not dare to venture out without a trusty chainsaw in the pickup. And those of the belt-and-suspenders persuasion would also carry a two-gallon can of gasoline, a quart of bar oil, an extra chain, a spark plug and a bow saw, just in case.

Now some of you non-forest dwellers maybe scratchin’ your heads, wonderin’ about carryin’ a mess of hardware like that. Well, let me tell you (because I’m gonna do it anyways), not having a reliable saw could mean the difference between enjoying a hot supper in a warm cabin versus a long walk home in cold rain or snow. All it takes is one downed tree.

Way back in the last century, before cell phones, my wife and I built a cozy little cabin up on a ridge, pretty far back in the woods. It was right at two miles from the main road, down a narrow two-rack that wasn’t used much because it ended just a quarter mile beyond our place. We only had one neighbor, and he lived a little farther back in the woods. It was a place of sylvan beauty and quiet solitude.

I believe it was the first winter we lived out there, that a good sized snow storm blew in while I was at work. I was working evenings in Bloomington back then and wouldn’t get home ’til ten or eleven o’clock depending on the season and road conditions. Bear in mind that the road from Bloomington was pretty interesting drive in good weather, with hills, curves, hairpin turns, a humpback bridge, and suicidal wildlife to keep you alert. But throw heavy snow and ice into the mix, and the commute would go from tedious to hair raising.

I was always glad to get to my turnoff because I only had to go a couple more miles to get home to a warm fire and an adult beverage. I could feel my mood elevating as I wheeled onto my little two-track. And it stayed elevated until I got a mile or so down the road. Then as I peered through the windshield wipers and the heavy snow I saw what looked to be Moby Dick stretched out across my path.

Well, I stopped and got out of the truck to reconnoiter. I could see that it was whale of a big old oak tree that decided to give up being an upstanding member of the forest to become an obstacle to my comfort and happiness. The situation had only one resolution but at that moment I was too cold to figure it out.

So, I got back in the truck to warm up and as I sat there I had only one wish on my mind; I wished I had my chainsaw with me. But it was back home, in the barn. I had used it all fall, taking down dead trees and bucking them up for firewood. I hadn’t really thought to put it in the truck. Well, the resolution to the predicament finally worked its way into my half-frozen brain— I was gonna have to walk home.

I turned off the headlights (to save the battery), turned on the emergency flashers so that I could find I the truck when I came back to work on the tree, and I started hoofing it.

With the wind blowing snow in my face and drifts in my path, I slogged for what felt like ten miles home. I could finally see the dim lights of the cabin, and that sight, while not exactly warming the cockles of my heart or any other frozen part of my body, did lift my spirits some.

I made it home. On the porch I made so much noise stomping and shaking the snow off that my wife came to the door to see what was happening. “Well, where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve been worried about you. I was about to get in the car and go looking for you,” she continued. It was a lovely thought but about an hour too late.

I told her about the downed tree and how, after I got a mug of hot coffee in me and warmed up some, I was going to grab the chainsaw and clear the road. She said that it was just terrible that I had to go back out into the storm but she volunteered to help. And then she added, “You did remember to get gas for the saw, didn’t you?”