So as a few of you may know my love of old yellow saws comes from my father. He had them mainly because my uncle (Dad’s brother in law) grew up in a logging family and they were dyed in the wool Mac men. I grew up cutting firewood with my dad and my uncle, lots of great memories there. My uncle was about as good a faller as I have ever seen in person. Truth is I learned to run a saw by watching him more so than by listening to my fathers instructions. Dad would tell me what I was doing wrong, Uncle would make suggestions in my methods that could be improved. Again all in all I cherish those moments with them both. Dad is gone and sadly Uncles health is fragile. I have spent many hours the past couple years with my uncle trying to soak up as much knowledge as I can from him concerning old yellow saws. I feel its my duty and privilege to be able to keep the ones that I own that belonged to them both alive as best I can. This quest for more knowledge has allowed us to have more time together and honestly has been good for both of us in various ways. It slowed me down a bit from a hectic though self-imposed work pace, and it has given Uncle something to focus on and look forward to.
I say all that to get to this:
Today I was up there helping him troubleshoot an SP81 and as I was about to leave he said do you have a minute to change out a side plate on one of my PM 700s. He said I found a correct plate for it in the parts box and want to take the 805 plate off of it and get it back all original with this side plate. So off the back shop we go, into the room where the saws stay (We have jokingly called them his harem for as long as I remember). He starts looking for the correct 700 as I help. After picking up about four myself and him one or two he says this is it. So I grab it and swap out the side plates. While I did that he was telling me what he knew of the history of the saw and trying to recall what year he rebuilt it. When I was done I said there you go uncle and went to sit it back on the rack. He stopped me from doing so. I said oh, you want me to take it to the shop and we check it over? He said no. I want you to put it in the back of your truck and take it home. I said WHAT? He said you heard me, I said can I pay ya something for it. He said no. I got home, and had a few minutes to mess with her before dinner. Put fresh fuel in her, she would not pop, squirted a touch of fuel up the muffler two pulls later she popped after warm up she purred like a kitten. It was about all I could do not to cry. Yeap I am a crazy Mac man I guess.
My saws are SO MUCH more than yellow and black. They are a reminder of a simpler time in life, when the world seemed much bigger, my troubles were much less, and the men I looked up to were giants.
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