The Certificate

When my husband, Mike, and I were approaching retirement one of the priorities we researched was finding a community based group we could both belong to. The choices were extensive but we wanted something different, to learn new skills and to enjoy team work without finding ourselves on a committee.

Volunteering for the State Emergency Services (SES) organisation ticked all the boxes but would we meet their expectations? Mike is fit and a hands-on kind of guy, but I am not overly fit and not used to physical activities to any great extent. The SES in our state is a Government sponsored group of skilled volunteers who undergo regular training to be available for the extreme weather conditions we encounter during our Northern Australian summer – cyclones, electrical storms and floods. We submitted our paperwork and attended the Induction Weekend. Right from the start we loved it- the camaraderie was evident amongst the members, there were many avenues members could take according to their interests and skills and experienced members were on hand for the training.

We committed boots and all to the group, and I mean boots, as I had never worn heavy safety boots before. We knew we had to “skill up” quickly as our usefulness was going to be impacted by our increasing years. It was challenging and fun. How hard is it to learn a few knots? Incredibly difficult I found out as my brain just didn’t seem to be wired to get my fingers and the ropes co-ordinating. Thanks to a great little App and plenty of practice that problem was overcome.

Then came the Chain saw Course – optional. I had realised that the more I knew of the procedures the more useful I could be in the radio and operations centre, so tentatively I nominated to do the course. I planned to cover the theory aspects and leave others to the practical. The faint hearted were advised to close their eyes during the Safety Video. I peeped at just the wrong moment- uuggghh! But I learnt heaps about repairs and sharpening chains. The day for the practical assessment was approaching.

“Maybe as I’ve come this far I could give it a go,” I reflected. Mike has a chain saw that I had never touched so I asked for a few practice runs to see if I could start it.

Chainsaw morning arrived. It was the first of our hot summer forecasts, a sweltering 34 degrees with high humidity. Our bright orange uniform has long sleeves and pants, the boots, as well as the helmet, ear muffs, mesh visor, chaps ( protectors strapped around the legs)and gloves. My internal thermostat was rising with the external thermometer. My anxiety was keeping pace.

I was buddied with another guy and our instructor was Ged. He is a quietly spoken, experienced member who can “ tell it to you straight”. I was confident that he would let me learn at my pace. The instructors felled a number of large trees and off we went, chainsaw at the ready. I had anticipated a beginning lesson on a branch the size of my arm not one my arms couldn’t even circle. My heart was pumping, the heat was oppressive and I was scared.

Deep breath. And again.

Think of that list of MUST DOs.

Remember those DON’T DOs.

All around chainsaw motors were revving. It was hot, dusty, noisy and quite frightening. The motor started. Sawdust flew as the blade bit into the bark. The strain on my arms and knees was telling. Suddenly the orange safety cover was thrown in front of me. It was the signal to stop instantly.

Using our colloquial Aussie slang Ged’s voice rang out “You’re not slicing a bloody loaf of bread. You’re cutting a bloody tree, love.” My confidence took a dive. Was he yelling to get over the noise or with sheer frustration at the way I was handling the saw? Both I suspect.

Clarification followed and I tried again. It was hard work. We had checked for fuel but not carefully enough and we had to walk 150 metres back to refuel. Then we had to strip and clean the saw and back for more detailed practice.

I couldn’t do it. The heat was getting to me. I was worried about my strength holding the saw and my knees were objecting to the squatting angle that was needed at times. I had to give up. I was so frustrated. I had come this far but mentally and physically I wasn’t able to continue. I headed for the tent and our First Aid Officer doused me with water. Gradually I cooled down inside and out.

During the lunch break I could see the instructors going through our paperwork. I grabbed a tray of Subway rolls and headed over to them. I knew they felt embarrassed. I wasn’t going to pass muster. I reassured them it was okay and I was having to accept where I was at. Ged offered to take me on my own but pole saws and wedges were not for me. I spent the afternoon handing out water and bandaids and being impressed by how skilfully the members were using the different saws. The pressure was off and I could enjoy the activity from a distance.

Three weeks later the first storms hammered the region and our SES group was in full swing. I travelled with the chain saw trailer and spent many hours replacing and sharpening chains. I had found my niche- near enough and far enough away.

A couple of months passed and the Chain Saw certificates were being handed out. I clapped enthusiastically as each member received their recognition. They had earned it. Then my name was read out. Mike gave a little cheer and others joined in. During the evening I quietly approached Ged.

“We reconsidered and submitted your name after your efforts with the chain saw trailer,” he affirmed. “You earned your stripes, BUT … don’t ever let me see you using a bloody chain saw on my shift!”

Today Mike has the cleanest and sharpest chainsaw in our street, maybe even our suburb, and I have a certificate that demonstrated my learning – how to recognise and accept my limitations and how to search for positive alternatives when plans are changed.