Saw Repair

A few weeks ago I broke the pull cord on my chain saw. It is probably something I should learn to fix myself, but I needed the chain sharpened, too, so I took it to the local small engine repair shop. The proprietor took care of both problems for about forty dollars, and had the saw ready for me in a couple days. When I went to pick it up, he pointed out some wear and tear on the bar, as well as some flattening of the links on the chain. He told me that it was caused by pressing down too hard on the saw during the cut. The saw should pull itself through the kerf, you shouldn’t have to force it, he said. He warned me that I would have to replace the bar if I weren’t more careful. He said that I should just bring it in for sharpening more often—instead of hand filing it myself—and then I wouldn’t feel the need to push on it. He also reminded me that it needed bar oil each time I used it. I listened politely to his scolding, thanked him, and hustled out of there before he could turn me in for saw abuse.

As I pulled away from the shop with Valerie in the car, I started laughing. If that guy knew how hard I really worked that saw, he would have me arrested. First of all, I’m not going to bring it to him every time the chain loses its edge. He charges $15 to sharpen the chain. A new chain costs $22. At that rate, I’d be better off throwing it away after one sharpening. No way. I can make a chain last for a couple years with some hand filing. Second, I have heated my home for six years with that saw and I have never replaced the bar. If he had any idea how many cords of wood that bar has cut, he would be praising my light touch rather than scolding my heavy hand.

The saw is a Stihl MS250 with a 16 inch bar that I bought in 2004. It is an admittedly small and underpowered saw that I have used like a workhorse for more than six years. And, I am not above taking advice from a small engine repairman. But, I have to laugh when he scolds me for actually using the saw and warns me that I might need a new bar. After keeping my family warm for six years, if that saw needs a new bar, it is well deserved, and I will have no regrets about buying it.

Before and After, Part II

Last March, I did a before and after for our living room. Now it is time for the dining room. Patching and painting just one room each year seems like a slow way to go. But, we've also cut, split, and burned five or six cords of wood; developed a 600 square foot garden; and done some major patching on the roof. It is currently time to finish the pruning in the orchard, so the interior improvements may be on hold for a while. Next winter . . . the kitchen.

Trailer Loading Lessons

Since I had to move our household to Parowan last winter, I got to be pretty good at loading a trailer and a truck. The better you are at loading, the fewer trips you have to make. Most Parowan residents are pretty good at trailer loading, too. From hay bales to appliances, locals are prepared to move it themselves. I think all of us, however, could take a lesson from this guy. I wasted all that fuel last winter driving the car to Parowan when I could have just put it on top of the load.

Trimming the Elm

I’ve been looking at a large, mostly dead branch in the American Elm in front of The Homestead for more than a year now. I’ve wanted to remove it, but have hesitated because of the difficulty. I did not, however, want to let any of the remaining live twigs form buds, so I knew I had to do it before any warm spring weather. It was almost spring-like today, so I decided that it was time.

The limb I wanted to cut was about 25 feet off the ground. It was also about 15 inches in diameter—so I wasn’t going to be cutting it by hand. I hate to run the chain saw one handed and wasn’t sure that would work anyway, so I needed to use both hands. Using both hands means that the only way to hang on is to wrap your arms around the tree. The problem with that is it puts your face very close to the chain. If the saw kicks back, you’re going to lose a nose before you can stop it. I didn’t want to cut my face and I didn’t want to fall out of the tree, so I pulled out an old climbing rope and tied it to the bumper of the Chev. I then ran the rope through a crotch several feet above where I needed to be and tied it off to a waist harness. There. I wasn’t going to hit the ground if I lost my balance and I could use both hands without putting my face in the chain.

I’m good at some things, but trimming trees isn’t one of them. I once removed a middle sized maple from a friend’s back yard. I volunteered to do it because they didn’t feel they had the skill and couldn’t afford a professional. I didn’t have the skill, either. I bounced one limb off the roof, set another on the picnic table, and crushed their kid’s slide. Sure, I did the job for free, but all the repairs to the infrastructure were costly.

I didn’t hit anything this time, and I didn’t hurt myself, so I guess the day was a success, at least for me. The tree, however, fared less well. The best way to cut a heavy branch like that is to reach out from the crotch and score it on the bottom a couple of times. Then, when you start the cut from the top, the bottom can collapse until the whole thing snaps off cleanly. Finally, you can move back to the crotch and finish the cut flush against the trunk without all the weight of the branch pulling against you. My position today was so bad, however, that I couldn’t reach out and score it. I did my best right against the trunk, but it wasn’t enough. When the branch let loose, it tore part of the bottom of the branch, pealing the bark back like skin, and leaving an ugly wound on the trunk. I got the limb on the ground; I just hope I didn’t do permanent damage to the tree.

Burning Pine; Burning Eyes

The other day a friend of mine sent a picture of me that he had found on his computer hard drive. He had taken it a couple of years ago when we were under-burning some ponderosa pine at a place called Stump Springs on the Dixie National Forest. I had a job as a “lighter,” which meant that I spent the day using a drip-torch and enjoying a walk in the woods. Unfortunately, the day would soon become less than enjoyable.

A prescribed fire is planned in such a way that the flames are always traveling away from the lighters. This is frequently accomplished by way of topography. That is, you start lighting at the top of the hill and burn your way to the bottom. That way, the fire, which travels uphill, is always moving away from you. The people who plan prescribed fires, the Burn Bosses, also keep careful track of the potential weather and the prevailing winds. A strong wind can, of course, push a fire downhill—straight at the lighters. The perfect situation is to burn from the top down with a slight uphill breeze to help push the fire (and the smoke) away.

On this day, there were probably eight or ten of us burning about 100 or 120 acres. It was a lot of work and, as the day grew long, the wind started to turn against us. By the late afternoon, our smoke was not going, but coming. After a while, it became so dense that I couldn't keep my eyes open. The wind was not strong enough, or low enough, to push the flames downhill, but it was enough to hold up the smoke and put us in the middle of it. It isn’t easy to walk through the woods wielding a drip torch while keeping your eyes closed.

When we finished the unit, the Burn Boss told a bunch of us to jump in his truck and drive around to the top to see if we could get out of the smoke. Some of the younger guys had been using some goggle-type eye protection and they were still able to see. I got into the passenger side of the six-pack with my hands over my face while one of the young guys drove. For probably 15 or 20 minutes, the tears streamed down as I ground my fists into my burning eyes. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to see again.

After a while, resting in the clear air and setting sun at the top of the unit my vision slowly returned. We were in a meadow just below Powell Point, the place from which John Wesley Powell supposedly scanned the entire Grand Staircase—from central Utah to the Arizona Strip. It was a place for clear vision and long views. Finally, everybody cracked the Gatorade and snacks and we drove back down. There was laughter in the truck then, and a sense of accomplishment. Of course . . . you know what they say . . . any day in the woods is better than a day in the office.