After the imminent danger was over and we could breathe easier, Bob turned to me and said, “Do you know what I was worried about most, Grandpa? That I would get you killed.”

“I was worrying that I would get you killed,” I replied.

“If I got you killed it would be worse. The family would never forgive me,” Bob argued.

“No, it would be worse because you have your whole life ahead of you. I’m old.”

In hindsight we can tell the story of what happened up on the hill in a somewhat lighthearted way, but there easily could have been a tragic outcome. Cutting down trees is dangerous and unpredictable.

To feel Bob’s anxiety, read the text message he sent me the morning after he got into trouble trying to fell a big tree in poor light. Then I’ll tell the story of what happened, and explain why, though this crisis has passed, the Sword of Damocles hangs over us always.

Bob’s text to me after a fretful night’s sleep, 6:38 a.m.:

Also I don’t know if I explained very well on how the saw was pinched it was pinched because I wasn’t thinking very wisely and I saw which way the tree was leaning (which from now I’m probably just gonna let it go the way it wants) anyways and so I made a notch which I guess I didn’t think to check if the notch was good enough (it wasn’t) so it started to fall the way and that’s how it’s currently pinched.

And also I can show you when we get up there why the notch wasn’t good enough and also I apologize again and there are definitely a lot of lessons I’ve learned like dark is quitting time and pay more attention to where the tree wants to go and make better notches.

Grandson Bob,17, told me that he and his good friend Dru wanted to build a small log cabin up on the hill of our farm. He asked for permission, advice and the loan of a chainsaw.

Their proposed site is on the eastern edge of a thick stand of woods, mostly Norway spruce that my dad and I planted as seedlings when I was about their age.

Just inside the pine woods, where the hill begins to slope toward the hollow far below, the boys already had a cozy campsite with a fieldstone fire ring and a tarp roof. It reminded me of my own boyhood outdoor adventures.

I said I would help them.

In exchange for the planks they would need for a roof and floor, the boys agreed to help me relocate stacks of cherry and heavy oak from last summer’s on-site sawmilling project. We piled the lumber in the dry of the barn. Bob and Dru would have helped me anyway, and I would have given them lumber and lent tools anyway, but the barter made it feel equitable and businesslike.

This happened a week ago, before cold weather had set in. It was late in the day when we finished moving lumber. I judged that there was just enough daylight to go up on the hill to pull a smallish cherry the boys had cut completely but which remained upright, held by its neighbors. We took the Kubota tractor, logging chains and my second-favorite chainsaw, the Shindaiwa Model 488, and pulled the tree down safely.

The boys wanted to work a little longer, so I left them with the tractor and the chainsaw. That was a mistake. It was also my mistake not to give Bob proper training and cautions in felling trees.

Half an hour later I panicked when I realized it was pitch dark and they were still on the hill, needing to bring down a tractor with no headlights. Bob answered his cellphone to say they delayed because they had gotten the saw pinched in a tree. I found them coming out of the woods using their cellphones as flashlights.

Not understanding really how chancy the situation was, I got them off the hill and said we would extricate the saw in the morning.

By light of day I saw that Bob had attempted to fell an 80-foot Norway spruce that was about 14 inches in diameter at the base. That is an enormously heavy tree. He had notched it and started the back cut when it leaned the wrong way and hung up in adjacent trees.

The chainsaw bar was badly bent in a way I still can’t understand. It and the chain were caught tightly, held by what had to be several tons of pressure from the tree’s weight and leverage. The saw’s engine appeared okay, but the twisting force prevented us from disattaching it.

After an hour of nerve-fraying attempts with varied strategies, a combination of delicate chainsawing, pulling sideways from a distance with the tractor, and pure blessed luck brought success. The tree slipped heavily off the stump without crushing us or the saw. The tree was still leaning and stuck high above our heads, however.

“We should just leave it,” said Bob.

I agreed with all my heart. “But it could come down any time,” I said. “So I’m going to name it Damocles.”

Bob was not familiar with the Sword of Damocles, a story from ancient Greece.

When envious Damocles flattered his king, the monarch offered to trade places with him for a day. Seated on the throne, enjoying the trappings and power of a king, Damocles looked up to see a sword hanging over his head, held by a single hair from a horse’s tail. More eloquently than words, the king was telling Damocles how precariously he held his throne.

Operating powerful machines such as tractors and chainsaws lets us accomplish great physical tasks with ease. With this power comes a catch: if not used with skill and care they can do great harm.

Text from Bob to me: Thanks again for helping me Grandpa sorry about everything. I’ll find that chainsaw bar let you know thanks.

Me to Bob: No worries love you.

Bob to me: I Love you too Grandpa.