CHAIN SAW MASSACRE, YORK TOWNSHIP, IOWA                                                                                             

Who among us doesn’t get excited about a huge, beautifully wrapped birthday present, especially one you can hardly lift? Even you fibbers who say, “Please don’t get me anything,“ would quiver at the gorgeous offering my husband placed on the table in front of me. I ripped it open and pulled out not a peignoir, not a cashmere sweater, but a chain saw.

In his defense, my husband knows I hate cute. When we were newlyweds he brought me a souvenir from New Orleans. His colleague brought his wife some glittery pasties. My husband brought me Holly Hobbie stationary. I would have hated those pasties, but there’s a lot of territory between pasties and Holly Hobbie, buster. I gave him a look he’s apparently never forgotten. In 42 years, no more cute stuff. With the bright red, petite-size chain saw, you can see how far from cute we had come.

Who else has a best friend you can call, tell her about your new chain saw, and know she will be as excited as you are? “We can trim trees! We can cut firewood! Be there in half an hour!”

Never having touched a chain saw, Pam and I actually read the directions. One in particular caught my eye. It explained that if you do not hold the chain saw just right and you hit a knot in the wood, the saw could fly back and split your forehead open. I do admire wide-set eyes, but I already have enough trouble finding glasses that fit . I started to repack the chain saw, but Pam urged me to “just give it a try.”

We selected a small tree, about 3-inches in diameter and 30’ high.  My forehead tingled in anticipation. We pulled the starter rope, and the motor roared. Hey! We were already good at this. We cut in about 2-inches, and the saw stopped. It was jammed. This on a tree so small I could make a soprano recorder out of it. We handled this little setback, however. We were, after all, woods-women! We pushed the tree over. One tree down.

We proceeded through the woods making cuts as far as 6 or 8 inches in all the dead trees in our path. None of them fell. Most pinched down on the saw and wouldn’t let go. We had philosophical discussions about starting from the uphill versus the downhill side of the tree trunk. (In addition to the saw-pinching problem, there is an issue of kick-back when a tree falls; as the top of the tree hits the ground, the cut end, newly freed, can leap up and catch you under your chin.)

We came to the creek, and I held the saw while my friend leaped across. She took off from the east bank, became airborne, and landed with her feet stuck firmly in the mud on the west bank. The rest of her didn’t quite make it that far––she sat back down in the middle of the creek, which consisted of an inch of water on a bed of black mud. So, Miss Chain Saw of 1998 wasn’t quite so enthused about our venture now. And I bet she never wore white pants on her deforestation soirées after that.

Back home, my husband had been hearing that chain saw make its way through the forest for nearly 3 hours. He figured we'd be able to farm that land the next spring. 

We, by gum, were going to succeed in felling at least one tree before we gave up. Our final victim was a good-sized dead locust. We made it darn near 9 inches in but once again could not finish that last inch. Now we had a 50’ tree that was cut 9/10ths of the way through. And 13-years later, we still do.

Since 1998, we’ve had 2 tornados and one hurricane-force wind go through our place and plenty of winter storms with gusts up to 50 mph. Even though Pam and I had created a 20-acre Pick-Up-Stix game, those trees still have not budged. I’m feeling pretty good about the future of our woods.