LAS VEGAS — I bought my dad one of those industrial wood chippers for Christmas a couple of years ago. He lives with my mom on an acre and has ample use for the thing.

Dad likes to put on his gloves, giant ear-phones, safety goggles and disappear into the backyard where he turns piles of branches into piles of wood chips.

“It’s just what I wanted,” he told me when the rig arrived.