I could hear the familiar sound despite closed windows and a wind from the wrong direction.
The diesel beavers were at work in the neighborhood.
In this case, it turned out that someone had finally realized that the very large dead tree in their yard might pose a threat to the cars parked under it. And to the house, and to the neighbor’s house and car, and to drivers if it decided to fall into the street when it fell over, and to . . . The tree has been dead for at least a year, and I suspect the ice brought down the first large limb, inspiring the long-needed removal of the rest of the tree.
When most of this city was built, people planted fast growing trees like cottonwoods and Siberian Elms. They have a lifespan of around 50 years, and their time has come. Every so often I hear the sound of chainsaws, then falling wood, then a stump grinder (although not every one goes with the last). The nickname came about after I went to the park and observed that four trees had disappeared in the course of three hours of a lot of noise and apparently much mess. “Giant beavers attacked the park.’
MomRed: “That’s nice dear.”
In all fairness, she was a little bit busy at the time, trying to sort out US government forms on a US government website.
DadRed heard the comment and from then on the big serious chainsaws have become “diesel beavers.”