The service, plainly
A crew arrives with a chipper, feeds everything you've pointed at through it, and the volume problem is over — a season of trimming or a windstorm's worth of down limbs reduced by a factor of ten in an afternoon. Around Marion County the usual calls are the brush mountain behind a Monroe City machine shed, cedar and hedge cleared off a fence line west of Palmyra, the limb pile that's been curing beside a Hannibal garage since the last ice, and the follow-up pass after clearing work somewhere in the county leaves its windrows.
Chips: asset or cargo
Decide the chips' fate before the machine starts, because it changes the price in your favor. Blown back into a pile on your place, they're free mulch — garden paths, around (not against) tree trunks, mud control at the barn door. Fresh chips do borrow nitrogen from the top inch of soil as they break down, so keep them out of the vegetable beds for a season. If you'd rather they vanish, haul-off is a line on the quote. One material note a river town should hear: don't stockpile fresh ash chips near standing ash you're trying to save — and if you're moving any firewood, keep it local; hauling wood around is exactly how the emerald ash borer got everywhere in the first place.
What a chipper won't solve: trunk wood much past ten or twelve inches, root balls, and dirt-caked material that eats knives. Those price as haul-off or as grinding work on the Marion County schedule instead. Photograph the pile, guess its footprint honestly, and the quote usually comes back same-day.