Why BDDW Founder Tyler Hays Keeps His Dad’s Chainsaw Close at Hand

When I was in fourth grade, my family moved to a remote town in Oregon called Joseph, where my dad spent summers growing up. He wanted to go back to rural living and get away from his desk job. My siblings and I always joked that we were like the Swiss Family Robinson, but in the mountains. When winter came it was cold as hell, and we only had a woodstove for heat. Every year, we would go out in my dad’s beat-up 1950s truck to cut wood for the season.

That first year, I distinctly remember the day my dad brought home this chainsaw. It was bright red and shiny, and I realized how proud he was. He used it to cut wood, but over time, the chainsaw became a symbol for how our safety was a result of our own work. If we didn’t keep the fire going, there was this sense that we would freeze to death, and I became interested in how this object, this machine, became part of our family’s livelihood.

My dad wouldn’t let me use the chainsaw growing up. But in my late thirties, it became mine. It had been sitting in his garage for years, and I finally got it running again. I learned how to use it and maintain it. Now it lives with me in Philadelphia, and when I go to my property in Vermont, I take it with me and pack it around like it’s a tennis racket or something.

The chainsaw is sentimental, but I love that I actually use it. A lot of what I collect has been worn and well used, and with my furniture designs, I try to imagine what it’s going to look like in a thousand years. It’s about making something with a story and an origin. There’s something about an aesthetic of use—objects are better if you can connect with them in some way. The chainsaw means so much to me as both a utilitarian object and as something that’s been a big part of our family. It’s this beautiful—still red—and shiny thing—my dad was proud of it, and I am too.

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