Larry wanted one thing: the finest log cabin in the foothills, built from wood he cut himself. He had picked his first tree, a tall pine in a dense stand of evergreens. His axe hung ready in both hands. The problem was the axe. Its blade had worn thin from years of work, and the edge no longer bit deep. He swung anyway. The dull blade skipped off the bark instead of sinking in. The handle jerked back hard toward his chest. Larry stumbled, caught his boot on a root, and dropped the axe in the needles. His heart slammed. One bad kickback could break a rib or worse. Larry knelt and studied the shallow cut. The pine barely showed a scratch. He ran his thumb along the axe edge. It had gone soft and round. No amount of swinging would fell this tree cleanly. The next kickback might not miss. He sat back on his heels and thought. His grandfather's rule stuck in his head: a dull tool is a dangerous tool. Larry needed something with real teeth. He remembered the machine in his shed, buried under a tarp since last winter. He walked back and dragged it out. The chainsaw was heavy and scarred, its metal body orange with rust and grease. The cutting bar bristled with sharp teeth. He checked the chain, filled the tank, and set his boots wide. Then he pulled the cord. The engine coughed, then roared. The whole machine shook in his grip. Larry lowered the bar against the pine and let the teeth do the work. Chips flew. Sawdust filled the air and stung his nose. The saw cut where the axe had only bounced. He carved a notch on one side, then moved to the back. The trunk groaned. A crack ran up the wood. Larry killed the engine and stepped clear, the way his grandfather taught him. The tall pine leaned, tipped, and crashed down. Branches snapped. The ground shook under his boots. Larry pulled off his helmet and wiped his face. The tree lay full length in the needles. He had his first log, cut clean and safe. The dull axe was finished, but the saw had done what he needed. He walked the length of the fallen trunk, counting. It would make good wall logs, maybe four or five. But it was only one tree. A whole cabin would need many more, and the stand around him held dozens. Larry looked at the fuel tank. The needle already sat near half. He had enough chain and fuel for today, but not for a forest. He set his hand on the warm engine and made his choice. He would drop as many as the tank allowed, then figure out how to haul them. The cabin would rise one log at a time. Larry pulled his helmet back on and moved to the next pine.