Weapons of War

There is good cause for me to eye outdoor power tools with suspicion and fear.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, my first battle with a lawnmower ended in my defeat. (No, that’s not a pun — my left foot was sewn back together and remains an important part of me to this day.)

My dislike of grooming the grounds with manual tools far exceeds that concern. I shall be the master of the power tools, and that’s that. Within reason.

My nearest neighbor was not defeated but instead behanded by a power saw, but that doesn’t count — it happened indoors. (They sewed it back on, but he didn’t like the fit or something and had them lop it back off. No kidding.) Some years later I received a phone call from him, which arrived in the form of a call from a nurse at a hospital in Columbus.

“I’ll have to hold the phone for him,” she said.

He had been mowing (mowing was, best I could tell, his favorite thing) when his very heavy brush mower got a wheel stuck against a rock. Not always one to carefully think things through, he grabbed the crash bar on the front and sought to yank it free. This brought two results. The first was that the mower flipped over, blade skyward. The second was that he slipped on the freshly cut grass and came down, elbow first, on the spinning blade. Yes, it was his good elbow.

He was pieced back together, but was not entirely happy with the progress. He even spoke of having them go ahead and cut off that arm, too, but ultimately abandoned what at the time seemed to be his dream of becoming a robot, one piece at a time.

(He was calling to ask if I’d feed his dogs, which of course I did. When I went to his place, it looked like a murder scene, and not a calm and civilized murder scene, either.)

My neighbor’s woes have served as a deep and meaningful warning to me. I am not a good juggler or dancer, but my hands and feet have their uses and insofar as it is possible I hope to keep them.

So why have I turned a relatively benign power tool into a life-threatening monster?

Autumn olive trees and multiflora roses, mostly. Like the kudzu that is so affectionately regarded in the southern U.S., these come to us courtesy (not really; we paid for them) of the United States Department of Agriculture. They were brought in, all of them, to fight soil erosion, because there was a dustbowl in the 1930s. (Any president who claims to care about environmental matters and wishes to prove it could do worse than abolish that the Department of Agriculture, in the same way that one who really cared about education would eliminate the federal department thereof).

These things have taken over. Autumn olives have sharp spiny things here and there on their stems, branches, and twigs. Multiflora roses have thorns that would put any fishhook to shame. They are a continuing battle. A war, with a draw the best one can hope for.

I have undertaken to assemble weapons of war suitable to the task. It is no longer possible to go to the store, rent a helicopter, and buy a couple 50-gallon drums of Agent Orange. This must be hand-to-stem combat.

They’re universally called “weedeaters,” even though that’s an actual brand name. The Weed Eater company was founded 53 years ago, got bought by various companies — I think it is currently owned by Husqvarna — and that is all I have to say about them. I am not sure I’ve ever seen a genuine Weed Eater. I do know some people who refer in print to “weed whackers,” to avoid a trademark fuss; the proper, curled-pinkie description is “string trimmer.”

Actually, “string trimmer” is accidentally accurate, because the only reliable function of the things in their stock form is to turn rolls of monofilament plastic “string” into much shorter pieces. They trim the string very effectively.

It didn’t take long for manufacturers to realize that as ineffective they are in beating plants with what amounts to a noodle, they are exceptionally good as a light, portable PTO, or “power take off.” We can define this as rotational force made available via a connection to various implements. Tractors have them. My dangerous Gravely machine has one.

The original Weed Eaters and the imitators with curved shafts don’t have them, at least not in a meaningful way. But many straight-shaft “string trimmers” do have them, and a world of power and terror is thus unleashed.

One happy aspect of this is a connection socket common across brands (which might all be made in the same factory in China anyway). This means that halfway down the shaft there is a sleeve, generally a clamp, and a spring-loaded button. Release the clamp by unscrewing it, push the very irritating button, and you can remove the string cutter and replace it with something else.

Over the years the number of options has grown, and I expect the possibilities to bloom further.

I have taken advantage of this.

The first modification I made was a gadget called a “Grass Gator,” which replaced the string dispenser with a rotating head holding three plastic blades with steel inserts. These pivot if they hit a rock or tree trunk or something that would have simply broken the string. They are supposed to last pretty much forever, but they don’t, and replacements are expensive. Ah, but there are cheaper replacements available. They aren’t as good, but they’re okay for a while and depending on the terrain a while might be enough.

I delighted in using the Grass Gator. But there were enemies from the plant kingdom too strong for it. What else was available?

You have probably seen electric or gas-powered hedge trimmers, which supposedly keep pristine the manicured topiary found, well I guess it’s found somewhere. But a hedge trimmer blade, angled at the business end of a “string trimmer” lets you sweep happily through stuff that’s too tough to be called grass and too flimsy to be called brush.

My next miraculous attachment was a chainsaw. Yes. You can get a device that attaches to your “string trimmer” that puts an eight-inch chainsaw bar out where the whirling plastic string used to be. It requires some maintenance — the oil reservoir needs to be kept full and the blade needs to be sharpened — but oh, my how useful it is! There’s a lot to be said for having a small chainsaw that is kept several feet from you. But it can’t be angled, so taking out a small tree at ground level without leaving a living punji stick where it was is difficult and requires contortions.

Of course, there is room for stupid misuse of a chainsaw on a pole, such as using it as a limbing saw and, in order to extend its reach, standing directly beneath the limb being amputated, such that it falls on your head. No PTO guards against a lack of thought.

While the chainsaw attachment has been a very effective machine around here, it is not the best for removing heavy brush, because it is most effectively used in choosing one target at a time, not a wad of stuff. Plunge it into a big bunch of brush and you are likely to get what’s known as “kickback,” a potentially dangerous phenomenon in which the whole machine is violently pushed back at you.

The way around this introduces a whole new level of danger. It is replacing the string head (as with the Grass Gator) with a circular sawblade. If you have used a “string trimmer” you have probably indulged in guilty fantasy about this. I am here to tell you that it is possible. Yes, all the reasons you think it is a bad idea are real. But if you are very, very careful, it will accomplish things you want done.

The blades and adapters, made in China, of course, are available online in the usual places. They come in several varieties, including one that has a chainsaw blade comically around its edge, and in a number of diameters and number of teeth. I prefer lots of teeth and a fairly large diameter, because that gives you a little more control. It also reduces the severity of the kickback, which is common with the circular blades and which throws the thing not back but to the side. No one should be nearby when this thing is used! This is especially true if you use a shaft extension, as I do. It puts an additional 30 inches or so between you and the cutter. The extension is usable with all the attachments and is particularly helpful in extending the chainsaw’s reach. But it magnifies any bad reaction from the business end.

Let me repeat, the sawblades are very dangerous, so dangerous that my neighbor probably would have not used one of them back when he could. (After I publish this I expect to receive promotional email from many product liability lawyers, who tend to be even more hazardous still.)

Using one requires total concentration. None of this sashaying along through the brush, listening to toons on the headphones. The sawblades, too, can kick back, so the little D handle on a “string trimmer” is not enough. I have a handlebar sticking out on one side of mine, and I wish it were longer. Needless to say, no one should be anywhere close when you are doing this, though there should be someone close enough to call an ambulance or take you to the hospital. I hope I have made it clear: use of this thing is not to be undertaken lightly. (Actually, none of what I’ve described should be, but especially the sawblade attachment.)

All that having been said, when properly deployed the thing can readily cut off multiflora roses and autumn olive (and other woody plants) up to a couple inches in diameter. Yes, wear gloves and head, eye, arm, and leg protection. Make certain everything is installed properly and is good and tight — I’m pretty sure a sawblade applied to a person in the fashion of a ninja throwing star isn’t as much fun as a movie would make it out to be. (I think a proper Midwestern horror film would find a market. How does “The Missouri String Trimmer Murders” sound?)

If you try any of this and you are terrified, good. It is terrifying. I’m reminded of the day when I, at age 16, took my motorcycle test. It was administered by a grizzled old highway patrolman who rode a big Harley 74 when on duty.

After I passed, he very seriously offered me some advice. “When you think you’re good on that thing, sell it before you get killed,” he said.

That rule applies to the attachments listed above as well. I am frightened every second I use any of them. I give thanks whenever I use one or more of them and emerge intact.

Because I remember my neighbor and how casually he approached it all.

And I remember myself at age 4.