It seems safe to assume that, given the fact you are reading this, you are interested in wood. Most of us can point to an event in our lives where fascination or deep interest in particular things began. Being like most, I can recall the early beginnings of an appreciation for trees, wood, and all things related. My Grandpa, William Samuel Davy, loved the trees on his farm. Yes, so much so that if I scuffed the bark on one with my bicycle or similar, I was scolded when he returned home from work. As he seemed to be the epitome of the “Man’s Man” in my eyes, my inclination was to imitate, not only his actions, but viewpoints and attitudes as well. When asked to give a report to my fifth grade class, I chose trees and their leaves as my topic. Source material came from an issue of Awake magazine from 1957 or 1958.
     His farm in central Ohio had what seemed countless Black Locust trees, many small and some gigantic. Two huge specimens resided either side of the driveway, being 5 to 6 feet in diameter at four feet above ground. The story goes that my 90+ year old great-grandmother came up missing one afternoon and could not be found. Finally, Grandpa noticed an old orchard ladder against the base of one of the driveway giants. Great-Grandma had climbed almost to the top and was trimming dead limbs with a bowsaw. As she was his mother, it appears Great-Grandma may have been the origin of his love for his trees. I still remember her sweater and heavy stockings, even in August, as well as cotton gloves with the fingers cut off.
     As the years wore on, it became apparent some of the larger Black Locusts should be harvested before they began to rot in the center. Unfortunately, some had already started before Grandpa acted, but as a working man, his time at home was limited. I recall our family pulling into the driveway for our August visit and seeing dozens of Locust logs staged next to the road awaiting pickup. Grandpa had used his homemade tractor to skid the logs. Not having any sort of hydraulic lifting capability and wanting to keep the logs as clean as possible, he had wisely waited till the dry time of July and August to skid out the logs. The chainsaw he used was a man-killer McCulloch which was very heavy and super-loud.
     Grandpa owned an 8N Ford tractor by then but knew the risks of using the three-point drawbar to lift and skid logs. A local farmer had been killed in a terrible accident when his tractor flipped over backward onto him. The homemade tractor was built long before he was able to afford a “factory made” machine. Due to its mechanical and body issues, the 1930 Chevrolet Model LR truck from his coal and lime business (replaced by a 1930 Studebaker) was well-suited for conversion into a tractor. It featured a 194 cubic inch six-cylinder engine, four-speed transmission (plus an added one for tractor use), and a manual two-speed rear differential. He always used tire chains to improve traction with the rear duals. The deck around the single seat was made from heavy planks salvaged from a horse-drawn wagon. I recall vividly, the August rides down into “the six acres” on the homemade tractor, every few years hearing the din of locusts even above the straight exhaust. The machine had a Federal radiator, but I never asked Grandpa why that was; odd seeing as how I never stopped asking questions back then, much to his consternation and that of the rest of my family.