I’m doing old man chainsaw work this morning. A country song comes to mind. “I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.”

Drenched in sweat and bent over leaning on my knees for air, I’m not sure if I buy that line in my case. Nothing is as easy as it used to be.

My dad was a chainsaw guy his whole life. The farm just about required that he owned one, and having one around was handy for a lot of things, more than just for cutting firewood. As he got older, he made the transition from the heavy all-metal bow saws to the lighter weight straight bar saws.

You carry one around all day and your arms get tired, your elbow barks at you, and your back screams for mercy.

He eventually got to the point where it was tough for him to yank the pull cord hard enough to get one cranked. He devised a cut-off stump with a couple of spikes in it as a holder. He could slip the saw under the spikes, and the stump was just the right height for him to fit his hand to the cord handle. That worked for several years.

He called me one day. “I guess my chainsaw days are over.”

He was in his 80s. I could tell he was disappointed. “How come?”

He told me how he couldn’t get his saw cranked, even with it braced on the stump. It just wouldn’t start. So, he took it to Woody’s, down near Griffin, to get it worked on. Woody asked him what the problem was. Dad told him it wouldn’t crank. Woody grabbed the saw, and in one pull it started right up.

“Mr. John, I don’t know what to tell ya. The saw’s fine. You’re either gonna have to get somebody to crank it for you, or it may be time to give it up.”

Woody might as well have taken his truck keys from him and told him he was a worthless old man. I always felt for Woody, having to be the one to tell him to put his saw down.

I learned a lot about saws from Dad. I learned a lot more from Cory while I was still working. I was never the expert he was, but I’ve cut with some nice saws and always felt comfortable around them.

These days, I don’t use a saw much anymore. I own two. But I use them so seldom that it’s gotten to where I can never get one to crank. They sit up too long. I don’t put stabilizer in the gas tank. And they’re no good to me if they don’t run.

So, I did the old man thing. This is my equivalent to the stump with the spikes in it. I bought a battery powered saw. It runs every stinking time I pull the trigger, no matter how long it’s been sitting in my shop.

I’m never gonna cut anything big with it. It doesn’t have the kick that my old saws do, even though the salesguy says it does. This new one requires a little more of a gentle finesse, otherwise it bogs down in the wood. If I take my time, and since I’m retired, time is my friend, the saw works just fine for me.

I’m doing chainsaw work because I cannot see out my back screened porch down to the creek like I want. The biggest culprit is a Chinese Fringe tree about 15 feet from the house. My nursery and landscape buddies are going to shoot me, but it had to go.

I got this tree as a gift from Angel Creek Nursery years ago. It was just a stick at the time. Ray had selected one of the fringe trees in his nursery as “superior” in flower. He propagated cuttings and grew some samples to trial, just to experiment.

I was there one day picking up some liner material for our farm, and Ray said, “Take this fringe tree with you. Let me know what you think.”

I didn’t take it to the farm. One tree didn’t mean anything to us. So, I brought it home and planted it. There was no back porch then, and I could see to the creek from the yard just fine.

But I did build a porch, eventually. The floor deck is elevated around 6 ft off the ground at the back edge of the house. When you stand inside the porch and look out, your eyeballs are more like 11 or 12 feet off the ground, depending on genetics.

And over the years that little stick of a tree has grown. Being “the tree guy” I’ve pruned it and fed it and looked after it. And Ray was right, when it flowered in the spring, it was absolutely covered in a white-like snow. It was beautiful. I don’t think I ever told him that.

BUT . . . it covered the view from my porch. It was taller than the roof line. Broad enough to block out most of the view. It was killing me to think that I might end up cutting it down.

I’ve been talking about it for months. I’ve had conversations with myself, trying to convince myself that I wouldn’t be committing treason. I won’t be banned and spat upon. I can always plant another fringe tree somewhere else. But it won’t be the tree that Ray gave me.

Then I tell myself that if I want to see the creek, I’ll just have to walk down the porch steps to the yard. You’ve spent the better part of two decades babysitting this tree. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect. You just need to get over the idea that you have to see the creek from the porch. Keep the darn tree.

This morning, I was out on the porch early. Daylight breaking. Coffee in hand, like always. I heard some noise down at the creek. A twig broke. The water splashed. I suspected a deer maybe. But guess what? I couldn’t see a thing because I have this tree standing outside my screened window like a curtain.

Something just came over me. I got dressed. I walked outside and straight to my shop. I was like a robot. No emotion. I grabbed my chainsaw. Shoved in the battery. All four green lights in ready mode.

I walked down the hill, my face set toward the back yard. When I rounded the corner of the house, I did not look up. I didn’t want to look that tree in the eye. I just walked straight over to it. No debate. No weighing the pros and cons this time.

It’s surprising how fast a tree can disappear. I hid the body back up in the woods beyond the side of the house. I flush-cut the stump and covered it with leaves. Two other trees suffered the same fate.

But you know what? The view from the porch is great. I can’t wait to watch the seasons pass by my window.

Beware of old men and chainsaws.