S is for SAW

Dad was never a man for machines. I think he had a philosophy in life that if something didn't involve hard manual labour, then it wasn't worthwhile doing or at least wouldn't be done as well. His favourite implements around the farm were the four-pronged grape, the two-pronged pitchfork, the scythe, the axe and the bow saw. The grape he used to rid his few small cattle sheds of the bedding mixture of straw and manure that built up over the winter time. It was hard, slow work but he took at it with all the vigour of a man who enjoyed his chore. When the grape wasn't being used for its primary job it was often seen at the vegetable patch in spring helping to turn over and shake the soil in readiness for making planting furrows - a different kind of bedding. The pitchfork was also multi-functional, usually in the summer turning and shaking hay in the sun to help it dry out before baling but for most of the year it served another purpose. On any morning or evening when we had either to move cattle or load them on to a lorry for market, it would be riding passenger in his car, then would appear in public just at the correct time to give a wayward animal a good prod in the right direction. Sometimes a particularly disobedient cow or one with a stronger than average hide required more than one reminder but I never saw the pitchfork fail to get the message home eventually when dad was in charge of it.


However I think the scythe was his favourite. And he was somewhat of an expert in its use. Its shaft was about five feet high, round and about three inches thick in diameter. The curling blade at the bottom measured about two and a half feet in length and he kept it razor sharp at all times. You knew when he intended using it, for the noise of sharpening stone against the blade filtered through the air as he sat on the garden seat with the scythe balanced between his knees and the twelve inch stone doing its job on both sides. Then, when he was sure it was sharp enough, he'd swing the scythe over his shoulder, pop the stone in his back pocket and with cap positioned precariously on head, walked off to the field to begin his day's work. It reminded me of that old rhyme, 'one man went to mow' and mow he did, often for hours on end. His main enemy was the thistle, which every year made an attempt to conquer one of his fields resulting in valuable grazing area being lost for the animals though nettles were equally as annoying but with one quick swing of his trusty scythe he could down half an army of the weeds and with each victory his satisfaction increased. Often he would stay out for hours, just man, scythe and sharpening stone in harmony as all invaders fell before them, only returning to home for dinner before commencing battle in the afternoon until there were no survivors. Even in his later years, when his stamina and strength were greatly reduced, the scythe still got the odd outing and I don't think that he really ever believed that my efforts with the tractor and mowing machine were as effective as his because my implement was much less selective and tended to mow valuable grass as well as weeds.


When all the thistles had been cleared, the sheds cleaned, the gardens dug, the hay made and the cattle loaded, there was still time to warm up the bow saw. He had two of them. One, a more up to date model with a 'padded' handle and the other that Noah had left behind when the ark had moved on. I think that's when I learned that it's not the machine that's important but the hand that is in charge of it. He used it to cut up apple tree branches for use in the kitchen and it became a regular, almost daily job to ensure that there was an apple box full of sawn sticks sitting outside the back door ready for use. When the bow saw found the going too tough or the branch was too thick, then the axe was taken down sharpened and with one mighty blow it would rain down on the wooden block and split it into usable chunks. The whole process, like everything else he did was very therapeutic as I often found out myself but I still preferred the chain saw or the circular saw if only for the speed of operation.


When I saw the blood dripping on the kitchen floor, I knew he was in trouble. You see, he wasn't a complainer but this time he had come in from the garage in a hurry and from the amount of blood in the ever increasing pool plus the sight of an exposed bone beneath the flesh, we knew that his request for a sticking plaster was hardly appropriate for the wound. Despite his skill, for one moment he had lost concentration and the saw had been unable to distinguish between wood and flesh as it cut a track between thumb and fore finger. The stitches that followed, put him out of operation for several weeks but at least the old implements got a chance to cool down though I guess they knew they would never be redundant while he was about. I love the verse I read in Paul's letter to the Thessalonians, 'Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands.' That about sums dad up.


And so it is with me. When I'm in charge of my own life, it becomes a bit blunt and while it might seem to the casual onlooker to be well organised, long term it can have no spiritual direction unless I let God be in charge. And the moment I remove His influence, I'm no longer able to accomplish what He wants. In truth I'm only really fulfilling my destiny when his hand has control. As the Psalmist says in chapter 119, 'Your hands made me and formed me; give me understanding to learn your commands.' And I've got His Word to keep me sharp for the battles ahead. But the starting point is to surrender to the Master. I guess I can't be any more blunt than that!