When Karen and I moved into our new house, one of the things we needed to get done was to lay in a supply of firewood. Unlike other houses all over the area, we have no deadfall on the property, so getting firewood was going to be an issue unless we were willing to pay for it, which we weren't. So through a series of coincidences, we were able to locate a site where there was a sufficient amount of fallen trees that the owners graciously agreed to allow me to cut up and bring home for firewood for our fireplace this fall and winter.
Getting to the deadfall was the easiest part. The site was only a few miles from our house, the wood plentiful and readily accessible. About the only hiccup in the process was the chainsaw that had sat largely unused for over a year while we lived in an apartment. It wouldn't start up right away, and after a trip to Home Depot it worked well enough. But after I stopped to load the cut wood, it wouldn't start up again. But it didn't diminish the fun.
I guess I'm a firewood hunter. I combed over the area for the best pieces of downfall I could find and then cut them in appropriate lengths for later splitting. The autumnal weather was magnificent: Not too cold, no rain, sunny with a gentle breeze rustling the colorful leaves still on the branches. Underneath, a blanket of gold, orange, red and green crunched with every footstep. The high-pitched whine of the chainsaw engine was the only disturbance of the quiet in the woods, but somehow it belonged there, as sawdust flew back at me as I knelt down to evaluate the progress of my cut. As the whine grew more quiet, the log turned into firewood dropped to the ground and rolled to its rest in the fallen leaves as the engine puttered.
For me, cutting up firewood is relaxing. For Karen, cleaning is relaxing. I could have cut up half the deadfall in the woods where I was and been exultant, albeit tired. Sweat poured off me despite the cool weather, and I was sticky and smelly. But to see all those logs collecting at the bottom of the hill made me smile in anticipation of the fires that would be in our fireplace over the holidays.
Loading the cut logs into my car, I smelled the freshly-cut wood and wondered how long that smell would linger in my vehicle. Between that and the gas for my chainsaw, it would be awhile before Karen deigned to ride with me. I got the wood home and unloaded it into a neat stack in the driveway. We hadn't decided exactly where to put the woodpile yet, so there was no point in having to move it twice more.
The next trip to the woods joined me with my friend Hampton, with whom I would share collection of the firewood. We surveyed the woods for the best spots to collect the logs and then discussed other projects we'd carry out together. Hampton asked me if I had a wood splitter and I told him he was looking at it -- meaning myself -- which prompted Hampton to offer generously to lend us his wood splitter. We drove to his house, hooked up the splitter to his pick-up truck and brought it to our house. Within two hours Karen and I were splitting the cut up logs and beginning the woodpile stack. It took a very short time to get through those logs that had taken me a few hours to cut and haul. As much as I like splitting logs with a maul, a sledgehammer and wedges, I have to admit that splitter works almost effortlessly. It also puts a lot less wear and tear on my body. Karen and I worked quickly and efficiently, trading off on either splitting the wood or stacking it in a four-foot high pile, about eight feet long. The neatly split wood fit together like a Tetris puzzle. Soon enough, we had roughly two-thirds of a cord of wood, with more smaller branches to be sawed up to add to the pile.
When we finished, tired but smiling, we looked with satisfaction on the new woodpile. We knew we'd have enough wood for more than a few fires, especially since I'd be gathering more wood next weekend. Aided by Hampton's splitter, we'd make quick work of the logs I'd get and start another row for our woodpile. Just thinking about a roaring fire in the fireplace, with Custer splayed in front of the fireplace, made us content. It would be a good fall and winter with fires going every weekend, at least.
There is nothing like gathering firewood to calm my soul. There's just something primal about it that appeals to my basic instincts. The thought of Karen warmed by the fires makes me smile even more.
Our new house will be warm this winter.
(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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