Wouldn't it be a shame to drive my new tow vehicle over the stump in my friend's driveway and rip up the undercarriage. Other friends of hers have done so. The truth is that I have always hated that stump and the mesquite tree that preceded it.
Would it really be that hard to get rid of the stump? How should I know? I didn't know the first thing about stumps and chainsaws.
What a disappointment that chainsaw was! Even with a sharpened chain it didn't cut that mesquite stump so much as it just rubbed it, and generated heat. Don't let the noisy furor of a chainsaw distract you from the wimpiness of the cutting teeth on the chain; it is surprising that they cut at all.
I tried a pry bar and it worked a little bit, that is, it was useless in most places, but here and there it was effective. In other places a Milwaukee Sawz-all (reciprocating saw) did some good. My supervisor -- a man who had spent much of his life in Alaska and Montana -- kept warning me to clear the dirt and rocks away from the stump so the blades wouldn't dull down so fast.
What about a good sledge hammer and a log-splitting wedge? Those tools also worked well, here and there. It's all about angles and the local characteristics of the wood. Surely I must still be using the wrong tools. Then again, the most effective tool was Mother Nature and time: the center of the stump had rotted, and could be dug out with anything.
By now I was hooked -- totally obsessed -- with the evilness of this mesquite stump. Somehow I got the idea of using a circular saw with a carbide blade. It worked! But it would only cut slots 2.5" deep. So I just kept slotting and pounding the wedge into the slot. Although the mesquite stump was more like metal than wood, the hardest portions could also be brittle, making them vulnerable to the sledge and wedge.
It is quite amazing how a variety of tools is more effective than one single, ultimate tool.
My friend and passersby on the road were amused by the stubborn foolishness of this old guy working on the stump. Since this stump is right along the Arizona Trail, and it is peak season for north-bound trekkers, I teased them about using all their energy for doing something useful, like chopping out this stump, rather than hiking to the Utah border. One female hiker said, "But what we are doing is useful, too." (She was right, but only if her pilgrimage is looked at mythologically.)
Throughout the 20 hours of this project I kept hearing Victor Young's score of the movie "Shane" and kept visualizing Shane and Joey's father working things out between them by attacking the stump in the back yard of the ranch.
The power of myth, indeed. And speaking of myths, we are drawing near the end of the snowbird season. Wannabees and newbies are fed a steady diet of romantic mythology about how carefree and simple their lives will be if they come down to the desert, sit in a chair all day with their own thumb up their ass, and gawk at pretty sunsets.
But the ultimate in simplicity does not come from idleness; it does come from finding "your stump," and hitting it with everything you have.
Would it really be that hard to get rid of the stump? How should I know? I didn't know the first thing about stumps and chainsaws.
What a disappointment that chainsaw was! Even with a sharpened chain it didn't cut that mesquite stump so much as it just rubbed it, and generated heat. Don't let the noisy furor of a chainsaw distract you from the wimpiness of the cutting teeth on the chain; it is surprising that they cut at all.
I tried a pry bar and it worked a little bit, that is, it was useless in most places, but here and there it was effective. In other places a Milwaukee Sawz-all (reciprocating saw) did some good. My supervisor -- a man who had spent much of his life in Alaska and Montana -- kept warning me to clear the dirt and rocks away from the stump so the blades wouldn't dull down so fast.
What about a good sledge hammer and a log-splitting wedge? Those tools also worked well, here and there. It's all about angles and the local characteristics of the wood. Surely I must still be using the wrong tools. Then again, the most effective tool was Mother Nature and time: the center of the stump had rotted, and could be dug out with anything.
By now I was hooked -- totally obsessed -- with the evilness of this mesquite stump. Somehow I got the idea of using a circular saw with a carbide blade. It worked! But it would only cut slots 2.5" deep. So I just kept slotting and pounding the wedge into the slot. Although the mesquite stump was more like metal than wood, the hardest portions could also be brittle, making them vulnerable to the sledge and wedge.
It is quite amazing how a variety of tools is more effective than one single, ultimate tool.
My friend and passersby on the road were amused by the stubborn foolishness of this old guy working on the stump. Since this stump is right along the Arizona Trail, and it is peak season for north-bound trekkers, I teased them about using all their energy for doing something useful, like chopping out this stump, rather than hiking to the Utah border. One female hiker said, "But what we are doing is useful, too." (She was right, but only if her pilgrimage is looked at mythologically.)
Throughout the 20 hours of this project I kept hearing Victor Young's score of the movie "Shane" and kept visualizing Shane and Joey's father working things out between them by attacking the stump in the back yard of the ranch.
The power of myth, indeed. And speaking of myths, we are drawing near the end of the snowbird season. Wannabees and newbies are fed a steady diet of romantic mythology about how carefree and simple their lives will be if they come down to the desert, sit in a chair all day with their own thumb up their ass, and gawk at pretty sunsets.
But the ultimate in simplicity does not come from idleness; it does come from finding "your stump," and hitting it with everything you have.
Comments