The Chainsaw Massacre

Call it an acquired knowledge. Ten years ago, I wasn’t aware of the risk of trusting “well-intentioned” service providers; I have now learned that lesson. Let me be more precise, never trust someone who makes a living with a chainsaw.

My chainsaw education began a few years ago when I lived on Daufuskie Island, a beautiful hidden gem off the coast of South Carolina. As you might expect, one of the compelling aspects of the island was the landscape, specifically the old trees and the Spanish moss draped from every one of them. Living under the canopy of massive trees offered a reprieve from heat and contributed to the slow pace of living, it was glorious.

However, one of the challenges of living on an island that doesn’t have a bridge to the mainland, is finding people who can support the community. With limited access, competition among service providers didn’t exist; there was one of everything, but only one. That was true with only one tree trimming company serving the island. I gather they had been around forever and handled every task. They stayed busy when the inevitable storms blew through and took down trees, this happened often, and I assume led to a good business opportunity. But what happened when things were calm, and storms didn’t offer revenue?

Our friendly chainsaw toting business owner had to seek things to cut, and in this case anyone from above the Mason Dixon line was a perfect target. I learned this one day as I watched my neighbor pay over fifteen thousand dollars to have the local tree expert cut down twenty magnificent trees in his yard.

Flabbergasted, I had to inquire what was going on; lesson number one, I should have stayed away, it turns out tree trimmers don’t like questions.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Why are you cutting downs these trees,” I asked.

That harmless question led to the harshest stare I have received in years. I guess I was questioning his knowledge and more importantly his business model. Undeterred, I waited patiently for a response.

With disgust he said, “We are cutting down everything that is dead, sick, or going to die.”

Yep, that’s what he said. Not wanting to let a good follow up question pass, I said, “Aren’t all the trees going to die?”

I wasn’t trying to be a smartass, although I guess I was. But seriously, that can’t be the standard. As you might imagine my response wasn’t well received.

With a condescending tone and a ting of anger he said, “These trees have Spanish moss on them and Spanish moss kills trees.”

I was speechless, and that doesn’t happen often. Standing there wondering what to say next I decided to walk home; with a slight nod of my head, I looked at him one more time and made a note to ask my neighbor if he wanted to go snipe hunting.

Spanish moss does not kill trees. In fact, if you ask Google that question, it will clearly state that it is an old myth. Our trusted neighborhood tree expert was telling those who didn’t know better that the trees in their yard were doomed, and in fact every single tree on the island was on life support. He had created a crisis for his own purpose; effective but not too respectable.

Years later I have escaped island life to live in a more “normal” environment. But I haven’t escaped the dangers of a runaway chainsaw toting salesman who sees every tree as revenue and a threat to the homeowner. My East Tennessee tree destruction company I have come lovingly to call “Atta boy tree trimming, if its growin, we cuttin.” Catchy name, don’t you think?

They have now targeted my quiet, harmless neighborhood and its old, stately trees. They found these homes after Hurricane Helene ripped through and took down some undeserving trees. As part of their cleanup, they saw an opportunity to attack those trees that didn’t fall but could someday. Their first victim was a tree that has been on this earth longer than me, and I’m old. They claimed it was rotting, a tactic they often use. It’s silly, aren’t we all rotting in our own way? I don’t want someone to take me down just cause I’m not as healthy as I used to be. Guess what, after the tree was killed, the trunk looked perfect. Oops.

Next, they moved up the street and cut down a beautiful magnolia that was, you guessed it, “rotting.” Not done though, they then attacked a massive tree that was beautiful and trimmed it back so much it now looks like a one-hundred-foot-tall Charlie Brown Christmas tree. It is, as my dad used to say, “ugly as a mud fence.”

Now I don’t blame the homeowners, we all want to be smart and listen to experts. Maybe they were right to cut down the trees, it was certainly in their right; you never know everything, so I am not judging them. I would simply suggest a guy who feels comfortable holding a chainsaw isn’t the best person to ask about the health of your trees. Their motivation is singular. That is why you will almost never hear them say “I think they’re all fine, I wouldn’t touch em.”

I admit this bothers me more than it should. Maybe it’s because I want to trust people and the older, I get, the more I realize most people aren’t to be trusted. Is that too bleak an outlook? Maybe it is, or maybe I am getting wiser.

I am sure you are familiar with the expression, never waste a good crisis, I get that idea and don’t have much pushback. But what if there isn’t a crisis, and you must create one. This is where it gets more difficult. It some respects a perceived crisis is in the eyes of the beholder. What I may not think is a crisis others might think is, and that’s okay.

I had a pine tree towering over my house on Daufuskie, and as you know pine trees have shallow roots and tend to fall more than other trees. As I watched my neighbor’s yard turn into an open area big enough for a tennis court, I stood and stared at the tree anchoring my back yard. I knew if I asked Chainsaw Phil about it, it would be gone in a day. That felt like the wrong idea. I decided to contact my friend who is a true tree expert, an arborist by trade. I took dozens of pictures and spent a fair amount of time chatting with him. His answer, “look there is always a risk, but there is no reason to believe this tree has any higher chance to fall than any other tree. If it were me, I’d leave it alone.” And so, I did. I knew it could fall at any moment. Lots of things could happen at any moment. I prefer to enjoy things and not look for every real or fake crisis.

All this to say, if you see someone gleefully wielding a chainsaw and taking joy in the destruction it might cause, beware.