Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’ ”
— Luke 13:6–9, New Revised Standard Version, via Wikipedia.
Dödsträdgårdsskötsel
I’m not normally one for literal interpretation of the Bible. But in this case, I’m going for it.
I have a fig tree that will not bear fruit. I have now made up my mind to give it the final New Testament treatment, as above. After which, I shall cast it into the fire. Once the wood has seasoned enough to burn well.
I’m not quite sure what prompted me to take action. I’ve been putting in new raised beds. After my Nth shovelful of dirt, I kind of woke up and realized that I had been looking at the same big, ugly fig bush for going on 15 years now. Patiently waiting that one more year, for fruit that never appeared. Year after year after year.
But once my eyes were opened, I could not help but notice the fig was just one of many lingering gardening failures that fill my yard. The in-ground deer-feeding stations that were mistakenly labeled “blueberry bushes” when we bought them. The 30′ tall fruit trees bought as dwarf varieties. The landscaping that has to be hacked back twice a year so that the mail carrier can get to the front door. The azaleas that overtop the windows. And so on.
Nothing that, by itself, jumped out at me. Nothing that couldn’t be ignored for yet another year. Just the result of slow accretion over time. A bush here, a tree there. And as long as I could still walk around in the back yard, I let them be.
It finally dawned on me that the outside of my house was just like the inside. It was full of stuff that I had accumulated over the years. Stuff that no reasonable person would want, de novo. Stuff that I kept only because, at some point, I bought it.
The fig tree that would not bear fruit made me see that it was time for some dödsträdgårdsskötsel. A bit of Swedish death landscaping, to match the döstädning (Swedish death cleaning) I’ve been doing inside (Post #1667).
Never a dull moment
That’s when I decided to pull out my chain saw. Because, hey, what could possibly go wrong when an old, out-of-shape Joe Homeowner with mobility issues decides to chain-saw down a bunch of trees. In close proximity to buildings and fences. Trailing a great big power cord.
In all seriousness, my wife forbade me to use my chain saw when she’s not around. And rightly so. She’s the designated dialer. This, under the theory that it might be a challenge to type 9-1-1 with the stump of an arm, before I bleed out.
Much like the trees I’m going to cut down, this chainsaw is a leftover from an earlier time. I bought it when I was much younger. It’s not clear at this point that I should have kept it. Arguably, it may now be an age-inappropriate power tool. But unlike a geezer in a sports car, there’s no equivalent of the DMV to make me prove periodically that I’m still capable of using it. Thus, the decision to put down that chain saw, once and for all, is supported by the slenderest of reeds, the common sense of the aging user.
But, my life is pretty dull. My health insurance is paid up. So what the heck.
To be clear, this is about as wimpy as chain saws got, back in the day. It’s a Sears Craftsman 18″ plug-in electric chain saw. That size being about as big as electric chainsaws can get, and still operate on a standard 120V household circuit.
That said, a wimpy chain saw is a like a low-powered shotgun shell. Use it wrong, and there’s no question it’s going to hurt. It’s only a question of how badly.
I recalled that the last time I used it, the blade seemed a bit dull.
Which, by itself, sent me down a little philosophical trail, trying to recall how often I had used that chainsaw. I definitely recalled cutting up some firewood at my current house. Which led me to my wife’s grandmother, because I distinctly recall cutting up a bunch of firewood for her, a few years back. And I was pretty sure I hadn’t sharpened or changed that chain in the intervening years.
Seemed like that might have been a few years ago, that I did that little favor for my wife’s grandmother. So I checked with my wife. Her grandmother passed away 25 years ago, in 1997.
The upshot is that the chain is the original. It was on the saw when I bought it about 30 years ago. It was on it when I cut up that firewood for my wife’s grandmother. When I cleared trees and brush from my last house. When I cut up my own firewood. And it just got duller and duller, so gradually that each time I used it, well, it worked about as well as the last time I used it. And as long as it still worked, I wasn’t going to mess with it.
Anyway, I splurged for a new chain. They still make them to fit, and a new one is about $12.
The upshot is that my 30-year-old electric chain saw cuts like it’s brand-new. Took maybe two minutes to cut down that non-productive fig bush.
I retain all of my appendages. So far. And I’m looking forward to taking down the rest of my landscaping mistakes when the rain lets up.
So, happy ending all around.
Any larger lesson?
I was going to try for some sort of larger life lesson here, but it’s not worth the effort. The larger lessons are pretty obvious. Age creeps up on you. Getting rid of stuff is just part of life.
I guess the only one that surprised me is that a chainsaw with a new blade is a joy to use. I spent years struggling with a dull blade on that saw. And so I missed out on a lot of joy. All for my unwillingness to spend $12 for a new blade. I now wonder how much of the rest of my life has been like that. And whether its too late to change those long-ingrained habits of cheapness.
