Listen to the Schedule

The boys were a big help. For about 20 minutes.

The weekend was productive in the way the weekend damn well needed to be productive. A cord, maybe cord n’ a half of wood was split, another cord or so worth of logs was extracted from the forest, and perhaps half of what was split was stacked in anticipation of October’s first hard frost. We skied both days, and that felt fine, and the combination of swinging the maul a few hundred (thousand? I wasn’t counting) times, wielding the chainsaw, and gliding across Melvin’s pasture had me well and tuckered out by the time Sunday evening rolled its lazy way ’round. Last night, in a fit of simpering pathos, I dozed off at 8 and didn’t wake up until nearly 6 this morning, my shoulders aching softly from honest labor. This is good and necessary. I need to get myself work-fit for the months to come; I’ve gone soft from the desk and an excess of merriment, and there ain’t no better way to get work-fit than by swinging a splitting maul. If you doubt me, come on over: We’ve still got about four cord of wood to go, and I’ll be happy to point you down the path of redemption-by-firewood.

Yesterday, as I was splitting (and by gum, it was a perfect day for it: Sunny and cold enough that the wood all but shattered on contact, the moisture contained within frozen to near bursting, so that each round needed only a coaxing blow to separate into pie-perfect wedges), I thought about how the natural order of the seasons is almost perfectly aligned with this life. True, there are times when it feels as if everything must be done at once – May and September come to mind – but the other truth is that one of the most crucial tasks to our well-being occurs when most everything else is at a natural lull and furthermore, when the conditions are ideal for its undertaking.

That’s why I’m so keen to get the firewood put up by end of January (won’t happen, but we won’t be too awful far off): It’s our window of opportunity before the sap starts running, and we’re tapping and hauling buckets every day and splitting wood is about the furtherest thing from our minds. Then comes seeding and planting and shoring up fence and then haying and… you get the picture. This is it, right now. This is the space nature made for us north country folk to do firewood, and we’d be wise to pay heed, lest we find ourselves frantically skidding and bucking and splitting and stacking in June, when the wood is not frozen and therefore splits harder, when the logs must be dragged through dirt and debris and therefore dull the saw chain on contact, when the sweat runs so freely it stings the eyes and looses the grip on the axe handle, when we’ve lost nearly two precious months of drying time, when we’re already flogged from throwing hay bales.

One of the things I love about living in accordance with the seasons is that one hardly ever needs to make a schedule; all one needs to do is listen to the schedule that was made long ago.

Saturday lunch: Venison rib roast, green beans, baked potatoes, kimchi

Sunday dinner: Milk n’ cookies (really)