Advanced Chain Saw
Posted: September 11, 2026 Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, What is an Art Farm Leave a comment
Recently a violent thunderstorm passed through our town, leaving wreckage along a narrow localized path. 10 minutes north nothing happened, but in the storm’s path trees were felled everywhere. The storm arose suddenly. The rain fell in torrents, with quarter sized hail, plus 65 mile-per-hour gusts.
Visibility was zero, while the sound was deafening. I laid in bed, icing my hip, and was unable to get up to close any windows. It was about 30 minutes of mayhem, followed by stunned quiet, as the clouds passed and blue skies returned. Our gardens and grounds were covered with ice.
For the next several days arborists did emergency clean up day and night. Awake at 2am I would lie in bed listening to chain saws and wood chippers just a block away. For the most part our property seemed spared, until my son examined the back yard and found one Norway Maple had sheared at the trunk, was blown over, leaning against another tree, the branches caught in the canopy. High up, almost 30 feet above, the trunk had snapped leaving a large section overhead, like the Sword of Damocles.
We had a widow-maker in our back yard.
Because of my hip I could do nothing, not even walk into the yard to take a look. My son took photos and made a plan. Only two weeks before, he had taken the chain saw use and safety class. His confidence is high but this task was beyond his skills, beyond my comprehension. What I clearly understood is that a widow maker cannot be ignored.
I called the Everything Man. I sent him my son’s photos and he stopped by to take a look. He was unfazed, said “no problem, I will be in touch.” An advanced chain saw class became a plan in my mind, but my son had other ideas.
“Dad, talk to me before you make any plans.” I sensed his hesitation but kept my mouth quiet.
A few days later I told him my thoughts, that the Everything Man would get the tree down and then my son would handle the brush and cut everything to length. “Dad, talk to me before you make any plans,” he repeated.
My son is comfortable using the chain saw but he has his own struggle with social interaction. My two part plan directly pushed his buttons; I wanted him to help the Man get the tree down onto the ground and then take over. The Man was available on a Friday so I put that on the calendar.
“Dad, did I not say talk to me before you made any plans?”
“Well, I was offered Friday so I took it. The tree cannot wait and I can do nothing. The family needs this, so I need you to step up. There is not much to discuss.”
“But Dad…!”
He returned to his gaming. The task festered. His days were long, sullen and withdrawn. My frustration mounted, until I boiled over. Other chores that I had asked my children’s help on went unfinished. I reached my breaking point. In no uncertain terms I made clear that household chores need be done now, not at your convenience; life demands stepping up sometimes.
My harangue hit the mark.
When push came to shove, the chores got done, and I noticed a change in my son. He was awake and dressed on Friday morning, ready when the Everything Man arrived. Without a word he went down to the workshop to put on his personal protective gear. The Everything Man met him in the workshop. They gathered the tools and walked out into the back yard, talking quietly about small incidental things, chit-chat while preparing for their work.
The first class was about use of the chain saw. The advanced class was about rope, a 100 foot high strength nylon rope with 1800 pounds of snapping strength; an inner core of tightly wound high strength nylon threads, surrounded with an outer sheath. The plan was not so much to cut down the tree as to pull it down.
The “bowline” knot is one of the classic and essential knots of all time. Nicknamed the “king of knots,” it forms a secure, non-slip loop at the end – or in the middle – of the rope, which despite holding massive tension, is famously easy to untie.
The Man explained it simply.
A small loop is formed, which is the “rabbit hole.” Grabbing the end of the rope, “the rabbit comes out of the hole, runs around the tree, and goes back down the hole.” The knot as formed. The rope can then be pulled tight, but the bowline will never become a knot that “jams,” that cannot be loosened.
The Man tied a bowline at the end of the line, then patiently heaved the line up into the tree overhead. It took repeated attempts – my son was given several chances – until finally he had lofted it up over the widow maker and back down the other side.
He had lassoed the tree.
He then ran the line from the lasso overhead, down to the root crown of another tree about 40 feet away. He encircled the anchor tree, and made two more bowlines in his rope. He passed the line back and forth between the two bowlines repeatedly, which now acted like pulleys, making a block and tackle.
Silently he worked, then explained to my son, “This is how you do it by yourself, deep in the woods, when you carry all of your tools in by yourself.”
By example, not by long-winded explanation, my son learned the formula F = W / MA, where F is the effort force, W is the weight of the load, and MA is the mechanical advantage. Each loop of the rope increases the pulling force, while adding friction. By using four loops, the Man created a theoretical 4 times the leverage, meaning a 500 pound weight could be moved using 125 pounds of force.
Focused on the moving rather than the math, the Man pulled the rope and the entire tree was moved away slightly from the canopy, closer to us. He repeated this two more times, to free the tree up.
My son watched closely.
The Everything Man grabbed his chain saw and began to cut low on the trunk. On the underside he made the hinge cut, which removes a wedge to mark the direction in which the tree should fall. On the back side he began his plunge cut into the trunk. He proceeded cautiously, making small cuts and then stopping to look around.
The tree was held in tension, the block and tackle and the root crown forming a triangle. From the anchor tree to the lasso was the hypotenuse. Cutting at the root crown was removing one of the legs, the point from which the tree was expected to hinge, crashing down, pulling the widow maker with it.
Except it didn’t.
The canopy was still caught up in the branches above. The Man changed his plan.
He cut out a four foot section of trunk, allowing the entire tree to drop downward rather than hinge forward. He let gravity, mechanical advantage, and notch cutting work to his advantage. He did not force a dangerous, unpredictable gamble. He repeated his cuts several times, notching the tree down, until freed of the canopy overhead, the Norway Maple came resting on the ground.
I sat on the porch watching from afar.
Because of my hip replacement, I was still using a cane and any sudden movement was beyond question; the task had no room for cowboys. Once the tree was safely down, the suspense was lifted, and I left my son to his work and went inside.
A large pile of brush was cut away, and then my son got to work, cutting 16 inch lengths for our winter firewood. The Man and my son busily hauled the brush, stacked the logs. Everything was cleaned up, the tools put away. My son, on his own, cleaned out the chain saw and sharpened the blade.
When the Man came into our house for his pay, he said, “I mostly don’t enjoy working with teenagers, but I like your son.”
My son said nothing, but I could see satisfaction in his posture, his voice quiet but upbeat, humming a song to himself. He had overcome two immense obstacles, the Norway Maple widow maker, and his own internal struggles with stepping up. A man’s work, in one morning.
For the most part I said nothing. No reason to spoil the moment. I let him bask in his accomplishment.
He had earned his independence.
an Art Farm 