Next, Grandpa wanted to see the carving competition in which sculptors created works from large blocks of wood using chainsaws. Robbo was moulding a log truck out of a swamp-gum block; Leon hadn’t known he knew how to use a saw. Toby was there too, shaping a koala in a tree. Then Shane turned up, cigarette in his mouth, and got to work. Leon hadn’t figured Shane for an artist and was surprised to see the sculpture emerging from his neighbour’s hands: some sort of owl. Grandpa wanted a closer look, so Leon introduced him. ‘Hey, Shane, this is my grandpa, Thomas Walker.’

Shane sucked on his smoke, staring at Leon. He looked the old man up and down and must have liked what he saw, because he offered his hand. Grandpa shook it enthusiastically.

‘This is bloody amazing, Shane,’ Leon said. ‘I didn’t know you were so talented.’

‘I’m oozing talent.’ Shane grinned. ‘Do you know what it is?’

‘Masked owl,’ Grandpa said. ‘You can tell by the beak.’

Shane studied the old man with interest. ‘You know about this stuff? Spent some time in the forest?’

Grandpa’s back straightened and his eyes shone. ‘Retired logger. Cut trees for years on Bruny Island. Cut a few down this way too. Big ones. Not so many left now.’

‘Still plenty of big trees,’ Shane said.

Naturally loggers would defend their industry to the last old-growth log, Leon thought, just as cod fishermen had defended their right to take cod until there were none left.

Grandpa was eyeing Shane keenly. ‘Tough job, working on the saw. Not like those men on machines.’

Shane nodded. ‘Makes me laugh when they say they’ve done a hard day’s work.’

‘Those machines cut the forest too fast,’ Grandpa said. ‘Friend of mine says they’re bad for the industry. You fellers are cutting yourselves out of a job.’

Shane shrugged. ‘Not me, old man. I cut the trees on steep slopes where machines can’t go, so my job’s safe.’ He slapped his arse. ‘That’s why I’m so frigging skinny. Walking up and down hills all day. But blokes like me are few and far between. The day of the chainsaw is over.’

‘Shame,’ Grandpa said. ‘It’s because of those machines, isn’t it?’

‘Yup. But it’s no good being upset about it. That’s just how the industry is nowadays. The machines cut more trees in a day than I’ll ever manage.’ He tilted his head. ‘Have you seen what they can do? If not, you should take a look. There’s a demo over the far side of the field.’ He stubbed his cigarette butt on the ground. ‘Better get on, I suppose.’