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The Great North Woods Coffee Maker Massacre

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Illustrations by Gary Kwapisz.

The scene opens with six women standing in a forest clearing. Chainsaws rest on the ground at their feet. Some of the women wear helmets. Some of them wear chaps. One of them (me) is staring in horror at the fist-sized hole she just discovered in the chaps that she grabbed from the closet as she rushed out the door that morning. The hole is leaking Kevlar strands. And mouse pellets.

“These are my husband’s,” I say to the others. They’re polite. They pretend not to notice my wardrobe malfunction and talk quietly among themselves. “Not mine,” I repeat, more loudly. I walk over to my car on the logging road, open the back, and throw the chaps on the pile of cardboard boxes that I keep forgetting to take to recycling. I return to the group, but before I can start babbling as I tend to do when embarrassed, blackflies swarm out of the woods and devour us all.

So began my big adventure last spring, an all-women’s “Game of Logging” class. Offered by Northeast Woodland Training, Inc. (NEWT) and sponsored by Vermont Coverts, the class offered an introduction to the fine art of felling a tree while avoiding such faux pas as major blood loss and/or self-inflicted squashing.

The class is one of a number offered by NEWT, catering to skill levels from novice to professional logger. NEWT teaches safe logging practices, focusing on techniques developed by Swedish logger Soren Eriksson. The classes are called “games” because participants compete to win prizes, determined by who follows instructions most accurately and makes the fewest safety mistakes. As explained on the company’s web site, the term “game” also refers to the goal of developing a “winning plan or strategy for felling trees and working safely.”

Officially, I signed up for the class for practical reasons. My property is covered in tall stands of invasive woody honeysuckle that my husband and I are eager to eradicate. We have already tried, with little success, to control these plants by clipping them back and applying herbicides. In desperation, we even experimented with wrapping a chain around the trunks of larger honeysuckle bushes and yanking them out with a motorized winch. This latter strategy had appeal; it was gratifying to watch our plant nemeses fly high up in the air as if launched by medieval trebuchet.

However, on further reflection we decided that winching was a bad idea. It was dangerous (there was always the risk that the chain would snap or the flying honeysuckle bush would land on us), and the moment when the bush exploded out of the ground tended to rip up a large patch of soil. Also, winching the honeysuckle attracted neighbors. This was a problem because the neighbors kept wandering into the danger zone, cheering so loudly that they couldn’t hear us when we shouted warnings about imminent flying bush encounters. Reluctantly, we concluded that chainsawing the honeysuckle, then following up with an herbicide application, was a better approach.

Our new plan to chainsaw the honeysuckle was my official reason for taking the NEWT class. Unofficially, I signed up because the idea of a “women’s chainsaw class” captured my imagination. It sounded strong-woman-sexy. Valkyrie-ish, even. It sounded like a class that NASCAR star Danica Patrick might take with her buddies.

In other words, it sounded like the kind of experience that would give me bragging rights. And not just to my dogs, either. In the week leading up to the class, every chance I had, I mentioned what I’d be doing the following Tuesday. I even went so far as to manipulate others to ask me what I was doing on that day, just so I could shrug and say, “oh, nothing much, just taking an all-women’s chainsaw class.”

Then people would exclaim how impressed they were, and I’d fake surprise that anyone could think a chainsaw class (an all-women’s chainsaw class, attended by super-tough Danica Patrick clones!) was a big deal.

The only person who wasn’t impressed was Jane, my annoyingly smart friend. Her response to my news was to remind me that I had a “bad history” with technology. “You’ve already exploded two coffee makers,” she said. “What makes you think you should handle a tool with a high-speed, barbed chain?”

“Those coffee maker explosions,” I protested, “were freak accidents.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said, “both of them.” Then she gave me a lecture that I mostly tuned out. Something about how no one has ever made a movie entitled, “The Texas Coffee Maker Massacre.”

“Promise me that you’ll pay attention to the instructor,” she said. “And don’t try to impress anybody.”

Jane needn’t have worried. After my grand entrance with mouse poop chaps, I realized that no one would be asking for my autograph. In any event, the class turned out to be surprisingly uncompetitive. Instead of the Danica Patrick clones I’d expected, the other women were all normal-seeming 30-somethings to 60-somethings. We shared bug spray and paid close attention to instructor David Birdsall’s description of personal protection equipment.

It was a great class. In just a few hours, I learned a lot. I learned how to make a five-step plan to fell a tree. I learned that the face visor on a chainsaw helmet makes a good blackfly screen. I learned that chainsaws can indeed be scary, but the risks are manageable so long as I take my time and follow safety procedures. I even learned a naughty mnemonic device that will forever remind me to plan my escape route in advance of cutting. (Curious? You’ll have to take a Game of Logging class yourself.)

At the end of the day, each of us felled a tree. As David talked me through the process, I cut into my tree’s base, creating a front notch, bore hole, and wedge space. Finally, I cut through the “trigger,” and the tree fell, right where David and I had aimed it. This is an oversimplified description of what was, in fact, a messy process, but I was still proud that the tree came down safely and on target.

And best of all, it didn’t explode. 

Discussion *

Jun 05, 2009

LOVE this article! The writer managed to capture the all too real safety issues of chainsawing and make me laugh at the same time. My husband’s wanted a chain saw for years and I won’t let him get one. But now maybe I’ll take the class and get one for myself. Thanks for this terrific, informative piece. Hope to see more from this writer.

Joni Cole

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