To quote someone who was near and dear to all of us..."I feel your pain."
In June 2001, I came home to a colossal mess. A severe thunderstorm had downed one of our beautiful 50'+ pecan trees. It didn't uproot it--it was broken at the 16' level so I had the fracture 16' above the ground and the balance of the tree on the ground or sticking up in the air at crazy, unbelievable angles. It had also twisted about 1/4 turn so it was loaded with stress.
The tree trimming 'professionals' swooped through and the lowest bid I was quoted was $2200 to fell and cut it into haulable chunks or $800 just to drop the thing the rest of the way to the ground.
The trunk measured 108" in circumference, so I knew I was not looking at a job my 14" Poulan could handle. Armed with credit card, I bought a 20" Husky 55 and went to work.
Toward the end of that felling operation, a total stranger drove by and stopped, got out and warned me, "Son....you're going to kill yourself" and left. He was probably an old logger who could see that I was doing something very wrong, but the thought of death at that moment didn't really seem all that bad, so I tipped a sweaty hat to him for his advice and soldiered on. Shortly thereafter, I had the whole she-bang on the ground and the less-dangerous but much bigger job of cutting up and hauling off the carcass could begin. I split most of it but tried in vain to get someone to take the 16' long log to make pecan lumber out of it, but no sawmill was interested. It, too, ended up cooking a lot of people's food. A shame.
Mother Nature cooperated to her utmost by blessing us with 105 degree days
in which to clean up the mess "she" made. To top it, I was nursing a case of tendonitis and could not even start the new saw with my right arm. In a case of 'walking it out', though, by the time the job was finished, my arm was fine!! Cutting all that wood was apparently the perfect occupational therapy that arm needed and it hasn't bothered me since.
What's the moral of this story? I don't know...other than, if you're going to do it yourself, get ready to sweat.
And be safe. That stranger is an old man in a brown Chevy pickup. If he shows up at your place, listen to him.