&tc.

From the moment I first double-fisted a man-sized crosscut – five feet of whippy, shark-toothed tempered steel – I hated chain saws in a way only Leatherface’s human cutlets could appreciate. Chain saws have gotten so good that they suck: They’re so light and powerful, they take the workout out of woodwork. But a crosscut? I love the Catwoman growl of the stroke and the xylophonic tingity-ting-ting of steel tines on the backswing. Most of all, I love the good, grinding resistance you get from making a long lick of shark’s teeth bite through wood instead of just hanging on while some Stihl hired muscle does the work for you. Now, thanks to a bustling trade in vintage crosscuts on eBay, my woodshed looks like Jeffery Dahmer’s rec room.