Well, with the holidays upon us and peace and goodwill reigning all around, it seemed a great opportunity to post up a short meditation on something meaningful. I did think about bashing out one of those deliberations on the true meaning of Christmas, but we were too busy eating and getting drunk to really focus on whatever that meaning might be.
Then I wrote an over-long and too-technical essay on the bicycle I’ve been building from parts scored off eBay, but it was very dull and likely only to be of interest to a minority of readers. There was also an interesting development on the butterfly front, but again, perhaps a somewhat specialist topic.
It also occurred that there had been very little in the way of Braidwood history or culture on here for some time, but the ideas I have lined up still require quite a lot of work. So what to do?
At times like this it’s best, I think, to turn to those basic conversations one might have had in the playground thirty-odd years ago: “why are you dressed funny?” Or, “what does your daddy do?” Or in this case, “what did you get for Christmas?”
And I’m so very glad you asked. Because this year mine’s a doozy – just the kind of gift you gaze at through the shop window (or on the internet browser tab) and fantasise about; which you imagine having but never think you really will. It’s what small boys covet and large boys spend time rationalising the purchase of. It is, of course (as if you hadn’t guessed by now) a chainsaw.
Of course there are a million reasons why this is an essential tool for us to have at Corner Cottage, especially when winter returns and firewood is on the agenda again. As we learnt last winter, it’s an expensive commodity and often in short supply – but if you know someone with a farm, the stuff is lying around begging to be picked up. Surprisingly, it doesn’t come in convenient lengths, so some means of rendering it into oven-ready proportions is required.
Splitting logs lengthways with a nice axe or splitter is eminently doable; get your technique straight and you’ll get along nicely. Cutting them across the grain is infinitely harder and more energy-sapping. So you know, chainsaw. It’s a bit of a baby chainsaw, but great to learn your chops on (and I make no apology for that one – it’s Christmas).
The best thing, though, about this new toy is that it’s electric, so marginally greener and certainly less particulate-emitting than its internal combustion brethren. And it uses the same battery as the lawnmower and the whippersnipper. In fact, the battery and charger are the costly part – the other things are really just attachments thereto – ‘skins’ as we call them in the trade.
Now, here’s where we normally go into a fun-filled digression about the cultural associations of chainsaws, which would be quite something, let’s admit. Texas Chainsaw Massacre anyone? That scene from Scarface? That scene from American Psycho? That scene from Sharknado? But first of all, they’re all rather similar, almost to the point of cliche, and more than that, they’re a tad gore-spattered and not very much in keeping with peace and goodwill. So it’s a no to those particular filmic references.
That’s the thing about present-giving, though, don’t you think? It’s not really the thing itself that matters, and I’m trying very hard here not to say “it’s the thought that counts” – except of course, it is very much the thought that counts. It’s that buy-someone-something-they’d-never-buy-themselves principle which makes a nice chainsaw such a wonderful gift. Not because of the economics of the deal, but because it really does make you thankful, as you’re meant to be at this time of year – thankful for a little bit of bounty you never saw coming, and for the people who know you so well and love you enough to go a little bit off-piste to see your face light up, dispelling the hangover, with surprise and delight.
Many say Christmas is really about children, and I agree. That expression of delight when the wrappings come off the toys is so much purer on a child’s face – but as Wordsworth says, the child is father of the man (or person, in these more enlightened times) – in other words, the little nipper is still there in all of us and we can still experience that rush of amazement.
Even better, though, is that when you’re all grown up, you’re ripping the paper off a goddam chainsaw – and that’s got to have the edge over your train set or Tonka toys. Childish joy for grown-up toys has to be the pinnacle of pleasure on this most pandemic of yuletide celebrations.