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10/1/2009 3:34 AM

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This week, the wind knocked down trees like bowling pins on league night, placing me once again on chain saw patrol.

I love my saw. It's one of the most dangerous and wonderful tools invented. Unfortunately, I am naturally clumsy. It's a bad combo. Have you seen the guy at the fair who carves beautiful bears out of logs with his gas-powered saw?

I'm not that guy.

Instead, I'm the guy who, after sectioning a fallen ash, looks around for stray fingers and feet. So far, no one's nicknamed me Stumpy, but the season is still young.

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You have to wait as long as two weeks after passing a background check to buy a handgun in this country. To pilot an automobile (a piece of machinery chock-full of safety devices bumper-to-bumper), we each must take a driver's test. And yet, any crossed-eyed fool with liquor on his breath can stumble into Wal-Mart, pull out a pocketful of crumpled barroom dollars and be handed a chain saw, one of the most dangerous tools invented.

You gotta love this country.

My first chain saw was not handed down to me from father to son, nor was it wrestled from the hands of a maniacal hockey-mask-wearing movie madman in the middle of the night. It arrived as a gift. Years ago at birthday time, my wife determined the two things I needed most were a tailored linen summer suit and a 22-inch McCullough.

No one understands schizophrenia like that woman.

All self-effacing comments aside, I, like every other guy I know, like nothing better than to spend the day cutting stuff into smaller pieces. Our farm is bordered by woods, creating plenty of opportunity to put the saw to use. The basic rule is if a tree falls onto pastureland or a road, it's fair game. If it falls in the woods (heard or not) it's Mother Nature's responsibility.

The wind, for some reason, always seems to blow from the woods toward the pastures. I'm certain there's a scientific, meteorological reason that Julie Bologna could use to explain that phenomena. Me? I think the chain saw manufacturers worked a deal with God.

Create some work for the poor sap, Lord. We'll split the profits.

Each chain saw comes with simple starting instructions that no one has ever read. Instead, we fill the sucker up with gas and oil, push the primer knob a hundred or so times, yank the handle and curse until it starts.

If I could find the instruction book, I'm sure it would state, as Step Five, "Yank, Curse, Repeat."

Several weeks ago, my neighbor, while walking through the woods near our place, found an old rusted chain saw buried in the underbrush. Anyone who worked with one (a saw, not a neighbor) understands why it was there.

Someone gave up when it wouldn't start after repeated yanks and curses.

Heck with it, they said. Someone else will have to carve a beautiful bear from this log.

I'm not that guy.

To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday from 3 to 7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.

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