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The Brush-offIn which John Cooper rhapsodizes in words and not a little music about the myriad properties of the American brush hook. Naturally, my absolute favorite garden tool is the self-propelled lawn mower, but since that wouldn't distinguish me from a few million other people in North Texas, I will select the American brush hook, also known as brush knife, brush ax, bush hog, bush knife, brush hook, brush cutter, bank blade, and slashing hook (The complete Guide to Everything Sold in Garden Centers Except the Plants, Macmillan Publishing Company, 1980). With as many monikers as that, it must be a popular tool for a lot of folks. I had glimpses of it from time to time, but never appreciated it until the day I saw it being used by professionals. It was a cool, crisp fall afternoon just a few years ago when Tom Harpool and I were out cruising his farm southwest of Aubrey. We were evaluating progress on thinning an 80-acre block of oaks when we came upon his laborers. Instead of sending a bulldozer, which would have cleared the brush indiscriminately, torn the ground up and damaged tree roots, Tom sent half a dozen young men in with their machetes, saws, and brush hooks. Of the three tools, the brush hooks seemed to be the most useful in removing anything less than two inches in diameter. Wielding their hooks with the balance and rhythm of trained swordsmen, the workers wasted no motion as they slashed their way through the tangled mass and reduced it to ground mulch as easily as chefs turn lettuce into salad. "These narratives of hook and ax beg the question, is music brought to life by the hand of Stradivarius or Perlman? Is it the tool or the gardener that makes the garden grow?"It was as if I witnessed firsthand the skill of early pioneers described by Richard G. Lillard in 1947 in his book The Great Forest: "The settler, born with an ax in his hand, felled a tree without once stopping for breath, striking his blows with vigorous and rapid repetition with an exact aim that was literally to a hair. Coordinating head-and hand-work, he fetched a chip every blow and earned the compliment: 'Ain't he chin-lightnin?' Once the tree was down, he stood on the trunk and swung his ax free and quick in a bold graceful curve from above his head clear down to the notch under is instep. The whip-like handle hurled the wedging head in the wood and easily as a hot knife cuts tallow. In a rapid rhythm his ax gleamed in the air again, quivering, hanging its direction, swished down and swacked into the log while out flew elastic chips, two inches thick and a foot square, leaving sides of the notch as clean as if wrought by a chisel. An ax in a master's hands was the equivalent in artistry to a bow in the hands of a great violinist." These narratives of hook and ax beg the question, is music brought to life by the hand of Stradivarius or Perlman? is it the tool or the gardener that makes the garden grow? I bought a brush hook soon after visiting Mr. Harpool's farm, and although I have only used it once, my son has proven its worth on several occasions, at least to the point it needs sharpening. I know when I need a hand tool to cut brush (and be gentle on the trees), the American brush hook is my tool of choice.
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