history
recurring themes
by Venice Bayrd
Wed 24 Nov 2004 21:17:30
the trees here are really something else. parts of the woods here give new meaning to cathedral, and when the fog rolls in over the lowlands on a misty night the scenery is perfectly creepy. being around the massive tulip trees and oaks has rekindled a long-standing interest in arboriculture, and to my great delight, i finally met an arborist willing to show me the ropes. (pun intended.)
enter last sunday: my first day in training. basically this involved ground work in all its various forms, but with perks. sure there was some clearing of detritus and hand-saw type removal of lower branches, but there was also fun with a chainsaw. i'd never used a chainsaw before, but sunday was a day of firsts. stumps require a great deal more skill and subtlty than logs, i discovered, but chainsaws are really just satisfying tools. i also have to admit a strange sense of pleasure associated with the scent of mixed gasoline, which i smelled like for the rest of the day, and that may have had something to do with said satisfaction.
after the chainsaw came knot tying. the clove hitch, the slip clove hitch, the bowline, the monkey's fist, the "if you can't tie a knot, tie a lot" school of thinking--the list is endless. and the fun you can have with knots! picture a 20 foot tall rotten tree hull. picture tying a rope around it, and then around another tree 30 feet away, and holding tension on the rope while the guy who knows what he's doing with the chainsaw goes and cuts just enough of the tree so that you can then with some effort pull it over in the direction you want it to fall. lots of noise, yes, and splintering tree bits everywhere. and there's so much more about knots--the physics in rope tying, mnemonics with the rabbit in the hole running around the tree...
...but then there's tree climbing. this was the highlight of the day, bar none. it's hard to beat chainsaws and splintering trees, but playing tarzan was bliss. climbing the branchless split trunk of a 15 foot diameter tree was not quite bliss, but the effort really was half the fun. the climbing part deserves description simply because it involved caribiners, a harness, and lots of neat bits. and knots. ascending a tree using a harness involves essentially "sitting" as if a chair were placed horizontally out from the trunk and then thrusting the hips up in what is supposed to be a series of fluid motions while continuously sliding a holding knot up a standing rope. if one is not strong enough to hold onto the upper ropes however, one does not feel very fluid because stopping every five thrusts to rest tired arms is a hindrance. to climb roughly 20 feet in the air ended up being a fair amount of effort, but it was so worth it to swing from one trunk to a branch on the other trunk. the best though was letting go completely and swinging out from the trunk like a monkey on a vine. it's always a good idea to have someone holding the other end of the rope at this point, however. otherwise you smash into the trunk, no thanks to gravity. fortunately that didn't happen, and as i sat there suspended and swinging, the (absence of thought)/bliss was really remarkable.
reading back through the archives, i'm really glad to see the log of posts hovering around the intuition/sensibility theme...it's kind of like discovering (for myself) other people's joy. well, some of it anyway.
comments
anders pearson - Fri 26 Nov 2004 14:41:46
it's official. my library sucks compared to yours. we have access to neither chainsaws nor climbing equipment. or was this outside work?venice - Fri 26 Nov 2004 17:16:01
this was outside work. due to ridiculously high insurance rates, there's no way i'd ever get to do any of that on site.kurtis - Mon 29 Nov 2004 14:28:46
Wow ... thank you so much for that. Sitting here in the mundane grey world of my quaint little office job this was the ultimate vicarious holiday ... ultimate moment's respite. mmmm. The science of knots has always eluded me, the boyscouts never existed in my part of the world. Climbing trees, on the otherhand, is something everyone should do before their bodies grow too old and fragile to execute the task. It sounds like you took it to the next level though, which is admirable. And chainsaws ... mmm ... well there's not much bad I can say about a chainsaw ... the ultimate in visceral toys. Such an awesome little sensory toy. The smell, the sound, the feel ... of it all. Of the gas/oil burning. Of the bar oil combining with the fresh, moist wood. Of the wood chips bouncing off of everything all around you including you. Of the ever changed whine as you cut into different densities of material. Of that endless vibration that you can feel after you put the saw down. I can't think of too many other experiences that satiate as many senses at once as operating a chainsaw. hehe and it sounds like you got to fly ... now that's an experience worth daydreaming about. Yep, my flouresant banality can certainly dull my senses but it definitely doesn't own my dreams. Thank you. :)venice - Mon 29 Nov 2004 20:53:48
next time you visit me maybe :) not that i would trust me with a chainsaw, were i you.venice - Mon 29 Nov 2004 21:05:24
that's awesome. i'm glad that chainsaws can elicit such a variety of responses. there really is nothing like the smell of freshly cut wood on a cool fall day to invoke memories. combine it with the scent of toast blackened directly on the surface of the woodstove and there, in my world, is one of the most potent pleasant combinations of scents i know.TC - Mon 29 Nov 2004 23:00:09
My cousin tripped over a chainsaw once, and gashed her leg up something aweful. We never owned one when I was a kid. My dad would chop wood, and my brother and I would haul it over and stack it. I remember when we finally got a chainsaw. It was my grandfather's old one - the one my cousin had tripped on earlier in life. I was a little scared of it, but in awe at the same time. I liked it when the gas mixture was too rich, and purple smoke would sit around my father who sunk in sawdust and woodchips. Chainsaws remind me of the toy firetruck I burried beside my house, before we built the garage. Unless I destroy the concrete floor, that relic is lost for good.