Chainsaws and flannel shirts sure brings camp and all its' attendant memories back. I know you just might be thinking of Monty Python's lumberjack song but I always preferred Spam Spam Spam. Besides, in my head, it all turns into Martin Mull's song about Columbus.
We had three hemlock trees edging our patio. Had three because this is the story about cutting one down. All the hemlocks are pretty scrawny because they are on the north side of the house and get little direct sunlight. The scrawniest of the trees showed signs of needing to go to tree heaven early this spring. Death was creeping down from the top of the tree. The extension service said there was a disease infecting hemlocks and our tree was a goner. Twenty years ago I wouldn't have given a thought to cutting the tree down. I would have just gone out and dropped the tree, letting it fall where ever and then letting out some kind of primordial grunt. Now I'm a grown up and have a garden to protect.
Pat was up for us playing lumberjack as long as no other plants got damaged. I totally concurred. All the other trees we've had taken down were cut down by professionals, except one. Jimmy promised that the tree would miss the house and it almost did. But that's for another story.
So, we could cut the tree down as long as it didn't damage the hosta, ligularia, hydrangas, day lilies, you get the picture. We had about a three foot arc for the tree to fall within. Well we did it and it only took about two hours. Jimmy was over the next day and couldn't tell the tree was gone.