The West Virginia Chainsaw Massacre

07/27/2006

A chainsaw is not one of those things I have ever given much thought, other than the fact they are outrageously noisy, nor did I ever think I would become the proud, happy owner of one.  Fecal matter occurs, my friends.  As a gift on Father’s Day The Nancy presented me with my very own chainsaw, and a container of chainsaw-blade lubricant.  And, guess what?  I was a very happy camper.  Not long after I got it home I had it up and running for about ten minutes, cut up a limb that had fallen from one of our trees into firewood lengths, and put the saw away in the garage for safekeeping, and that is where it remained until Tuesday night a week ago..

A chainsaw?  Even a chainsaw has a history.  Imagine?  The first documented chainsaw was introduced in 1905.  It had a gas-powered, water-cooled engine, but no name attached to it as its inventor.  The father of the modern chainsaw is Andreas Stihl, a German mechanical engineer.  He received a patent in 1926 for a hand-held “tree-felling machine,” aka, a chainsaw.  These were the first successful patents for hand-held mobile chainsaws designed for woodcutting. Andreas Stihl is most frequently credited as being the inventor of the mobile and motorized chainsaw.  Pretty neat stuff, eh?  Thank God for Google.

So here’s my chainsaw story.  It comes with other junk attached to it, of course.  Perhaps that is why it is called a “story?” Picture this:  About 4:00pm I stopped by the Food Lion (the world’s most overrated grocery store) near Beautiful Downtown Berkeley Springs – population 711.  I detest even going through the door of the Food Lion, but the need for victuals forced me into making the trip.  As I meandered through the aisles looking for all the stuff I needed and they don’t carry – because it is “not on the buy list” – I settled for the stuff they carry.  Maybe one day it will burn down and we can get a real grocery store in town. 

As I was leaving the so-called “grocery store” I noticed the darkening skies to the Northwest, I called The Nancy at her office to see, if she might be ready to leave her office and head home with me.  I told her it looked as though we were going to have a storm.  Well, those of you who know The Nancy and her workaholic proclivities know what answer I got.  So I headed home alone with instructions to call her later.  Having put the groceries away I made the call.  She still wasn’t ready, but she did tell me it was raining very hard.  I decided to try my luck that by the time I got to her office she would be ready to call it quits.  It was about 5:15.

This is where the story gets really cool.  The Nancy’s office is about seven and half miles from the farm.  Our house is about half a mile off the paved road.  One must make his or her way over two concrete bridges that dip down as one passes over a small creek.  Water very often flows over the bridges after a heavy rain.  Its one of those things the previous owner must have forgotten to share with us in his haste to take our money and run like hell out of town.  I left the house and made my way down the two-lane roads to The Nancy’s office.  At about the three-mile mark it began to rain.  By three and half miles I noticed some small hail stones.  By the time I made it five miles I began to think some of this hail might crack my windshield or dent the metal.  I managed to maneuver my car – the company vehicle – into a Shell gasoline station and squeeze it under the canopy that covers the gas pumps.  Hail began to pelt the ground and some of it was walnut sized.  Within about ten minutes the ground was nearly covered with a layer of little ice balls.  Rain mixed in with the falling hail…the hardest I have ever seen rain come down.  Only minutes had passed when the water began to cover the streets.  By the time I got into Beautiful Downtown Berkeley Springs, some of the streets were nearly impassable.  After I had The Nancy safely in the car we headed for home via the back way to avoid the main roads and the raging water.  The rain continued to fall at an unprecedented rate.  We learned later we had had nearly nine inches of rain that day (in a matter of 1 ½ hours).

We pulled off the main road on to our driveway.  We made it over the first bridge even with about four inches of water cascading over it.  This looked to be a piece of cake, but not so, Gunga Din (http://www.bartleby.com/103/48.html).  About three hundred feet beyond the first bridge laid a tree directly in our path neatly fallen across the driveway – a fence on one side and the stream, at this point a swollen river, on the right side.  We couldn’t drive over or around the tree, and we were still over a third of a mile from the house.  It was pouring cats, dogs, kitchen sinks and lots of crap.  It was decision time.

The choices were, one, turn around and go back to town and wait for the rain to stop, and then do whatever had to be done to remove the tree and get us home; or the more brilliant idea simply called #2.  Brainy Boy here chose #2.

#2:  Walk up to the house (it is uphill), via the second bridge some 1000 feet further up the road, get the Wrangler out of the garage and with the “chainsaw” drive back, cut the tree in pieces, move it aside and return safely to the house.  Simple, practical, so I thought. 

With umbrella in hand, I started the trek in the pouring rain with thunder and lightning all around me, albeit in the distance (I prayed).  I did two smart things: I asked The Nancy turn the car around and move back toward the road beyond the first bridge, and the second was to take my cell phone with me.  The walk to the house was arduous.  I traversed the second bridge with water up to my calves.  I was soaking wet as I approached the front porch of the house.  That was when I realized I had no key.  Instant panic, but briefly lived when I remembered the secretly stashed key, known only to a select few.  I managed to get in the house, change my clothes, get the Wrangler equipped with the necessary equipment and was ready start back down to the tree and a chance to use my newly acquired chainsaw skills.

As I approached the second bridge it only took a moment to see that the water was now flowing over the bridge about eighteen inches deep.  There would be no crossing.  I returned to the house, got The Nancy on the cell and we decided it was best that she return to her office.  We were separated by nature’s wrath.  It was now about 6:30.  I was alone.  It was still pouring.  There were rivers of water flowing all around our property.  The world seemingly was coming to an end.  Global warming had taken hold.  All I could think of were the lyrics in the song saying, “It’s the end of the world, as we know it.” I thought it was.  More lightning, more thunder, more rain. 

At 7:30 I drove down to see what was happening at the bridge.  The water had gotten deeper.  The gravel on the drive was gone in some places.  It looked as though The Nancy might be spending a night in her office.

8:00pm:  I tested the bridge again.  Water was flowing but not quite at the rate as it was on my last look.  I decided to make a run at it, and made it across.  Now the fun would really begin.  It’s been a month since I had started and operated the chainsaw.  I wasn’t sure I could start it and the operator’s manual was back in the garage.  My earlier claim to possessing chainsaw skills was murdered by a ruthless fact, as evidence proved I had no discernable skill level.

A note at this point: In 1963 when I enlisted in the Air Force I was given a battery of tests.  These were to determine what field of endeavor would be best suited for me in the military world.  I have spoken previously about being the poster child for under achievers.  Well, I remember two things about these tests.  One, was that I was best suited for a military career as a file clerk ( I memorized the alphabet in the first grade and it stuck), and the other was when the recruiter laughed and told me he had never had anyone score as low on the mechanical ability section as I did.  I have no mechanical inclination at all (like I didn’t already know this about myself). 

I managed to get the damn thing going, cut and moved the tree.  This was all in the positive mode, but the negative came when I attempted to cross the first bridge and get to the road.  The water was still too high, so I again went back to the house.

Finally at about 9:30 the water level had dropped enough for me to retrieve my wife from her office.  She got home tired and quite hungry.  We had had an adventure.  Additionally, I came away from this adventure with a case of poison ivy.  It was growing on the fallen tree and I hadn’t noticed.  Just call me “Lucky.”

All in all this was a learning curve for us.  We did some dumb stuff and we did some smart stuff.  I learned something about starting and using the chainsaw – thank you, Andreas Stihl.  The poison ivy wasn’t on my list of wants, but it does give me something to do with my now idle hands.

And that’s all I have to say about that…