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Last week we had strong winds, which actually sounds kind of cool and exotic, on top of the hill with tree-tops swaying and leaves rustling to and fro; but, there are consequences.

strong wind+tall, dead tree=big mess for me

 The tree missed the house by two feet, and that’s only because it wasn’t tall enough. Remember the philosophical argument that goes “if a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears if fall…” Well, I heard this one fall, so I guess it really did. It was early morning, and I was laying in bed, listing to the exotic wind-noise, thinking that I’d better get up and get to work when there was a sudden significant sound, kind of like a “ka-CHUNK.” I didn’t say anything to Sue, as I tend to minimize noises in the night, realizing that it was actually morning-time.

“Did you hear that?” She asked.

“Yeah, probably one of the rocking chairs blew over.”

“I don’t know, it sounded louder than that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll check it out, I have to get up anyway,” I sighed, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, sore ankle and all.

In the bathroom, I looked out the window towards the pond and saw a flower-pot tipped on its side–sure enough, “it was a flower pot,” I yelled into the bedroom.

“Flower-pot…? I don’t think so.”

“Well…surprise, that’s all I see.” I stumbled woodenly over to the sink, revved up my Oral-B ultrasonic toothbrush and started doing the business. As is my habit, I looked out the side window, at the Lord Baltimore’s, in full bloom, and then I saw it. “Holy Shit!”


“It’s a big-ass tree. It almost hit the house.”

She didn’t even say I told you so, even though I deserved it.

Today, being Sunday, and not raining, was my day to dispose of above tree. I hauled out my Husqvarna 55 Rancher, kevlar chaps and gloves, a helmet with ear covers and eye screen, a container of gas mixed with oil (like it’s supposed to be), and a jug of chain-bar oil. It took me half an hour and several F’in-heimers to start the dang thing; and then, it didn’t cut, the automatic break/stop thingy didn’t work, and it smelled like something was burning. It seemed so much more difficult than three or four years ago when I used it last, and it was new. According to my way of thinking; there were two obvious solutions: 1) buy a new chainsaw, or, 2) call an expert.

I chose option number 2.

“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday Andy–thought I’d just be leaving a message,” I explained when he answered.

“No problem. What can I do for you.”

“Well,  one of those dead, standing pines fell down in those winds last week. I know that doesn’t narrow it down much.” There are numerous tall, dead, standing pines around my house. “But, it’s pretty obvious because it’s angled out over my fire pit. I couldn’t get my chain-saw…”

“Uh…Doc; you shouldn’t be using a chain saw,” he interrupted, “you should leave that to me.”

“Yeah, I know, but it seemed like the manly thing to do. I actually got it started, but then things kind of went down hill. Half the time, I can’t start it; and the other half-the-time I do, I’m afraid I’ll cut off my left hand.”

“I’ll take care of it for you,” he said.

“That’d be great.”

Today, two hours ago, I pulled my last chainsaw pull-cord–the motion pretty much identical to the “elbows-out, lawnmower” P-90X, exercise that’s part of ‘Back and Biceps’. As a matter of fact, I would make an excellent ‘chain-saw, pull-cord puller’, but it stops there. Once it’s all vibrating and rattling with it’s jiggling, sharp iron teeth–I’m outa there.