Loading up my cart with a chainsaw, gloves, and the tools for chain sharpening, I walked up to the sales counter.
“Is that all?” the sales lady, Jo, asked. “Do you have a helmet?” I shook my head. “It’s a must for safety, mate,” she said firmly. It was May 2023, and I lived alone on my nine-acre farm with my pigs, cows, sheep, ducks, chooks, geese, a dog and cats. My children – Peter, 34, Daniel, 32, Trevor, 29, and Esther, 28 – had all moved out.
I cut my own firewood and everyone nagged me about not wearing a helmet. I always brushed it off.
They felt bulky, and I hated having anything on my head. “It comes with earmuffs and a face guard,” Jo added.
My hearing…
