My Woodlot Transformation

It was the 12^th month of Covid isolation, or the 8^th, or maybe some other time designation related to the virus that had overtaken everyone on earth. There seemed to be no agreement on when it started, or even where, for sure.

I looked out on our woodlot, an area that encompassed perhaps a third of our 40 acres, and saw the fallen trees and branches mixed in with the healthy leafless trees of December. Was it within my physical ability to take on this woodlot’s cleanup as my new fitness program? Might that be the perfect way to keep my mind occupied while the world whirled on? Would a project seemingly larger than myself keep the stresses of Covid, a rabid political climate in the whole United States, and winter’s usual dark days at bay?

I was a veteran of jogging, walking, step aerobics, Curves, Snap Fitness and line dancing. Besides the fact that I felt uninspired by the lack of meaningful products from time spent in these activities, the virus did not allow much of anything except jogging, which my hip replacement no longer allowed, and walking which didn’t produce the effects I wanted.

But as I looked out the window that day, I saw a long-term project that would show daily accomplishment. I would be outside in the sunshine. The woods would reflect my time spent and exhibit piles of branches and tidy stacks of wood. But was I up to it?

I had used a chainsaw only once. It was a small gas saw with a 12 inch rotating chain blade. I wore a hooded sweatshirt with a string to cinch the hood. Somehow the motor swallowed the end of the string and quickly wound it up tight, bringing the rotating blade within inches of my face. Of course it was my lack of safety knowledge in using such a tool that made using it dangerous. I don’t recall if the string choked the motor or if I managed to hit an off switch. I wasn’t hurt but I was a modicum wiser. I was also fearful of using a chainsaw when others could do it safer and with more skill. Which I allowed them to do for at least another 25 years.

In 2020, though, there were an assortment of chainsaws in the family, one of which was lightweight, battery operated, and made noise only when the trigger was activated. At eight pounds, the saw wasn’t so heavy as to make it difficult to manipulate yet it could provide a workout. Perfect.

Other women had also demonstrated to me that we could handle a chainsaw if the proportions were right. My daughter Chelsea wielded a small chainsaw with the aplomb of a woodswoman. Daughter Dawn had her own saw. My friend Sharon was 81 and along with a similarly aged female friend had used a small chainsaw to clean up a fallen tree in her yard. Retired teacher Reta had taken on a project of cleaning up an abandoned 8 acre park and she worked at it summer and winter.

The woods was there and the chainsaw was within reach. But I was 67 years old, overweight, out of shape, and full of excuses if I wanted to make them. But I needed a daily workout and decided this would be it.