better not

Grandad always liked to extract the maximum amount of work from my brother and I when we visited. We would mow the lawn, split and stack firewood, weed the garden, pick apples from his tree and do various other "stoop work." So when we went up to the shack with uncle Bill and Grandad, one of the things we did was cut down some trees for firewood. Uncle Bill brought his chain saw, and he would cut down the tree, and it would be our job to cut all the small branches off with a hatchet and a couple of bow saws.
I was really impressed with uncle Bill's skill with the chain saw. He was pretty old, and a fairly small man, but he'd start the chain saw right up, and wield it like it was an extension of his arm. Sometimes when someone is really good at something, they just do it quickly and want you to stay out of the way. But uncle Bill would always tell us what he was doing, and give us little safety tips for cutting wood and tell various stories about people getting injured doing such work.
There was a popple that was growing right up against the outhouse, and grandad decided it should come down before it did some damage to the outhouse. Growing up against the outhouse had caused the tree to lean away, so uncle Bill pointed out that since there was no wind that day, we could be reasonably confident that it would fall away from the outhouse. He cut a wedge out of the trunk of the tree and told us how the tree would fall towards the wedge if he cut in from behind the wedge, about an inch or two higher. He warned us never to cut all the way through the trunk because the weight of the tree can then fall on the blade of the saw and bind it, and even bend it. Or the trunk could slide off the stump, hit the ground and fall in a different direction. The outhouse was a bit of a special case because there was no way to get the chain saw blade behind the popple, except by cutting through the outhouse, which he wanted to avoid. He cut a little further into the wedge, then made some cuts into the sides. He gradually pushed the tip of the chain saw into the tree just behind the wedge until it was most of the way through the tree, then moved it back towards the outhouse, then towards the wedge again. He withdrew the saw, and pushed against the trunk, and there was a cracking noise. The tree started falling as he turned and walked away from it. He made it seem so easy, almost casual. I did notice that the chain saw had left some marks in the wall of the outhouse though, but I didn't say anything.
As we were cutting off some of the smaller branches with the bow saws, he told us that when we were using a chain saw we should never cut anything above shoulder height. He told us a story about a guy who climbed a tree to cut some limbs from it and his wife was below on the ground, dragging away the limbs he cut after they fell. He noticed a limb above him that he wanted to cut, and he figured he'd save some time by just reaching up with the chain saw to cut it, instead of climbing up higher than the limb and cutting it from a better position. The guy never finished cutting through that limb. The chain saw must have hit a knot or something and kicked back. The man's wife heard the chain saw suddenly stop, then heard two things hit the ground. At this point, uncle Bill paused and looked at us from under his glasses.
"One was the chain saw, the other was her husband's head."
As you can tell, I haven't forgotten the story.
My brother and I each got to use the chain saw a little bit, but it was mostly uncle Bill who did the chain sawing. This little old man shuffled along next to the trunk of the tree, bending over slightly, slicing through the tree like it was butter. Each piece of the trunk was almost exactly the same length. It was easy to tell that he'd cut a lot of trees in his life.
The next day when we were driving on the old logging roads, grandad spotted a couple of mature maple trees, and decided they'd make great firewood. We came back later with the chain saw. The hard maple was more difficult to cut than the relatively soft popple, and we had to deal with a lot of undergrowth and brush, instead of the grassy field the tree by the outhouse had fallen into. We stacked the maple by the side of the logging road so it could dry out. Grandad figured if we brought it back to the shack, someone would probably burn it while it was green. He took his firewood seriously and wanted to burn it when it was dry for maximum effect. In fact, he decided to take two or three of the thickest pieces of maple back home with us so he could burn it in his fireplace (after it dried out of course).
One evening, a local guy, Bill Darlek, stopped by the shack for a beer. Grandad and uncle Bill had known him for years, and hunted with him and had many a drink with him. Grandad paid him to mow the logging roads a couple of times a year. I think he also cut the lumber camp for hay sometimes. Sometimes grandad would have him plow some areas and plant clover, which the deer really liked.
Grandad, uncle Bill and Darlek were reminiscing and telling stories about various things that happened in and around the cabin.
Darlek said, in his Wisconsin accent, "Oooh boy, if these walls could talk."
Uncle Bill looked around threateningly at all the walls and practically growled in a loud voice, "They'd better not!"