Whenever a chainsaw rings.

I had found myself on the shoreline of a local lake with binoculars pressed steadily into my eye sockets scanning the far shore for any sign of movement. I was beside myself. There was somewhat of a panic that had set in and many questions were running through my mind. To say I felt threatened is an understatement.
I had the thought of getting in my truck and taking a ride to check it out, because the long range optics didn't pick up anything useful. But I had already arrived late to the job site from a lax morning of blog writing and other internetting endeavors. I was wondering if what I heard was an older model 201T, mainly because of the intimidating growl that comes with the muffler mod and the port-and-polish. It definitely wasn't a sixty-six, that's for sure. Not enough body of echo rolling over the water. So, it must be, there must be a climber over there! They're probably gaffing a prune!
Then their chipper started and I was able to focus a bit more. My throw line already set in my own project, I yanked a rope up as quickly as I could and ascended for a better vantage point. As I HAASED up into the crown, instead of looking for imperfections in structure on the tree that may prove hazardous to me throughout the climb, I still couldn't get my mind off the enemy.
"I wonder if they're even certified" I said to myself, irritated. "I wonder if they even have PPE!"
Once aloft I set a canopy anchor and relaxed for a minute, but then the engine rolled over again in a sudden pop and began ripping through more wood, and the worry tore back into my mind.
Distraught with competitive anxiety, I descended quickly and kicked off the trunk transitioning nicely into a limb walk where I installed my lanyard and listened quietly again. I think I even hunkered down a bit. There was a one-inch piece of dead wood just beyond my right foot, so I leaned into my saddle, and began to cut, ever so softly, and listened for the sound again.
Maybe an hour or so later the pop-and-growl came again, and my head turned on my shoulders like a hawk. There was the sound of leaves whipping quickly through the air and then the loud thud of a butt smacking the earth. "Blowing tops!" I though. Flooded with contempt, I reached down onto my right hip and unclipped my own saw from it's resting place. I choked it and pulled and choked and pulled for a good 40 seconds or so. "C'mon" I said, drawn out and frustrated. Finally the engine gave in and it revved up and I made a four inch collar cut with a vengeful grin, not looking at the cut but over across the lake in case their cadre was now watching me.
And so it went for the afternoon, that chainsaw in the distance pushing me to extremes that normally I try and avoid. I wonder what it is that does this to me. Maybe it's just a primal thing that's embedded in everyone's make-up, the desire to be better or to be more valuable or more successful in our own trade, whatever it may be. The more I thought about it, the more silly I felt. I mean, owning chainsaws is a high dollar business, and we know how saturated the tree cutter trade is. But whenever there is one sounding within a two block radius, our biology takes over, and we are in the holds of fight-or-flight. The competition will never die.
For such a close knit community, there is a real divide I think between the elitists and those everyday contractors that may not be up on the latest qualifications or the most cutting edge rigging. But everyone is out there working hard for their families and their loved ones. It would be nice to put be able to put down our guards and be more excepting of the industry as a whole. Hardworking men and women are out there everywhere making a living and it's something to admire.
Maybe for this holiday season, every time a chainsaw rings an angel with get their wings.