Field Note No. 2 - Tension Lines
Do you know which way things lean before you push?
It was just a dead pignut hickory, thirty-odd feet tall, gray and hollow in spots. It had stood long enough. A friend was hosting a farewell bonfire at our farm, and this tree — still solid enough to burn bright — seemed like a worthy offering.
That’s how this Saturday project began: one man, one chainsaw, one tree, and a head full of time-tested, half-baked engineering principles.
The shuffle and the lean
If you’ve never watched someone fell a tree, resolving the natural fall and the desired fall is usually the first consideration. For me, the first thing you’ll notice is my strange little dance — the slow circle, the backward glance, the heel-drag shuffle at the roots. I call it the tree-trunk shuffle. No musical abilities required.
It’s not in any manual. Professionals use plumb lines and laser sights; I use scuffed boots and a squint. You back up to the trunk, look straight up through the branches, then sidestep and circle, dragging your feet in the dirt like you’re measuring the tree’s posture. Does it lean? Which way are the heavy limbs weighted? Where does gravity already have an opinion?
It looks quirky, and it is. But it works. It’s how I begin to learn which way the tree wants to go before I ever touch the saw.
This particular hickory made things easy — its trunk and heavier branches leaned naturally toward open space. No need for ropes, winches, or persuasion. Every once in a while, nature agrees with your plan.
Reading the pressure
Once I’d confirmed the lean, I cut a wedge — the notch — on that side. It’s a release valve, removing tension where I wanted the tree to fall. Then I started the back cut on the opposite side, a few inches higher, and eased the chain in.
This is where it gets subtle. The saw leaves a narrow kerf — a slit barely a quarter inch wide — and that tiny gap becomes your gauge. You watch it near constantly. If it begins to close, the pressure’s shifting the wrong way and your perfect plan is turning unpredictable. If it starts to widen, the first wave of relief sets in — the fibers are giving, the pressure is releasing, and the fall has begun in the intended direction.
You listen for creaks and pops — the tree’s version of conversation — and you learn to tell the difference between strain and surrender. Cut too little, and the trunk binds. Cut too much, and it snaps loose with enough force to remind you that nature doesn’t negotiate.
Change is like that. Pressure builds where you can’t see it. The signs of release are small and easy to miss unless you’re watching the gap.
When things don’t lean your way
Sometimes, though, the lean is against you. That’s when ropes, harnesses, and winches come out — external aids that help guide the fall in a direction it wouldn’t go on its own.
In business terms, those tools look like incentives, alignment structures, new communication channels, or governance mechanisms — anything that helps redirect energy when the natural pull of people or systems resists change. They’re useful, but they take effort. A leader who’s constantly pulling against gravity eventually snaps the rope.
Control, humility, and escape routes
Before any of that, I’d already walked the area, mapped escape routes, checked the chain, topped off the bar oil. There’s a reason old-timers tuck in their shirts before cutting trees: no loose clothing that can get caught in the chain.
That blend of control and humility — that’s what keeps you upright. You plan not because you expect perfection, but because you respect what can go wrong.
The fall itself happens fast. The cut widens, the sound deepens, and in a breath, the tree gives way — not from brute force, but from the quiet inevitability of pressure finally released.
Then comes the thud. TIMBER is optional.
After the fall
Every time I drop a tree, I’m reminded that most of the work happens before the cutting starts. You can’t muscle a stubborn structure into submission; you have to read it. You study its lean, its weak points, its tension. You relieve the right stress before you press forward.
People, teams, even whole organizations work much the same way. Ignore the internal strain, and they’ll splinter under pressure. Misjudge the balance, and your effort to help may snap back at you.
But when you get it right — when direction, pressure, and release all align — the fall feels almost effortless. Like it was meant to go that way all along.
End note
The bonfire burned beautifully that night — flames over ten feet high, sparks lifting into the cool October air. The old hickory served one last purpose.
And somewhere between the first cut and the final glow, I decided: tension isn’t something to fear. It’s what tells you where things are ready to move — if you’re paying attention.
