Storytime: The sawing machine

I walked onto the patio and quickly noticed a crowd of men huddled at the end of a long table. The charity golf tournament was in support of local veterans, so I went out to the course to have some barbecue and show my support.

Afterward, at the silent auction table, I found coolers, wine baskets and bid sheets for loads of gravel. And there at the very end of the table, in front of a crowd of admirers, was something I always dreamed about — a handheld, battery-driven, mini-chainsaw.

I was in love.

I listened to the conversations of the men who circled the chainsaw. Each of them either had one, used one or wanted one. They bragged about how handy it was, and how easy it was to use. It wouldn’t cut down a tree, or even a hefty branch, but it would cut some “stuff” up.

I want to cut some stuff up.

My husband left me a toolshed full of tools. A blower, a weed eater and a new chainsaw I can barely lift. Each of these tools requires oil and gas combined in some scientific formula I don’t want to know.

I truly want to be self-sufficient — and have actually come a long way in the last year. I was never the person who took the trash out to the street each week. I wasn’t the lawn person, the leaves person or the tree person either. I didn’t mow or mulch, and struggle with it now that it has become my responsibility. So I bought an electric blower with an extra-long cord, learned how to throttle up the mower, and started pulling weeds by hand.

And, every week, it’s on me to take out the trash.

Since I don’t mix well with oil and gas, that sleeping chainsaw continues to snooze and my yard is becoming a bit of a nightmare. In an effort to keep control, I have been reaching for a primitive hand tool my husband referred to as a “lopper.” I am not a fan.

It works fine on fine stuff, but the big stuff takes big muscle that I just don’t have. But there, sitting at the end of the table, was the answer to my never-ending search for empowerment! That little chainsaw is lightweight, but still deadly.

I had to have it.

I overbid on the thing, then hovered around it the rest of the day, willing to increase my offer in order to bring that sweet little sawing machine home. I was nervous about writing my name on the bid sheet, worried someone would see my name and try to talk me out of buying a deadly tool. So I put down my phone number instead of my name, then waited and watched until the auction closed.

I was happy when my number was called.

While the battery was charging, I opened the instructions for my mini-sawing machine, thinking I would simply have to slip in the battery, flip a switch and saw away. Instead, I found out that first I had to make some adjustments because “the pitch of the chain must match the pitch of the chain sprocket” and “the drive link gauge of the chain must match the groove width of the guide bar.” For my convenience, the instructions also include this formula: t = a+2.

What’s that even mean?

I am only on page 20 of the 45-page manual for my easy-to-use saw so I have yet to fire it up. My eyes glaze over just reading it and I can’t help but wonder why tools are so complicated. The instructions overwhelm me and so does the responsibility of this new sawing machine because, according to the manual, besides monitoring the sprocket and the pitch, I will also need to oil the chain, calibrate the blades and watch out for the back thrust.

And I still have to take out the trash.

You can reach Lorry at Lorrysstorys@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: Storytime: The sawing machine