Splittin' Wood

Since we got our woodstove, which *still* seems surreal to me, we have had to split wood every other weekend in order to have supply enough to burn for two weeks.

Now, anyone with half a brain knows that seasoned wood is best to burn in your woodstove, and those who are wise split a years supply of wood the season BEFORE you need it, so it can properly "cure".

But WE, on the other hand, had opportunity to get a woodstove and install it (along with a chimney) only a month before winter hit hard-so, obviously, we didn't have the luxury of working ahead.

We don't burn "green wood" (that's a no-no): it has been cut for a long time (logs cut into workable "chunks") but the splitting of the wood from "chunks" into pieces is a rather long process, and requires more than just a one-time work day. Especially to heat this monstrosity of a house.

So, as I was saying, Matt heads out there every other weekend to restock our wood supply. Sometimes, his dad helps him. Other times, I do. But the hardest worker is always Matt.

The wood splitter is actually a makeshift Mcgyver contraption using a lawn mower engine and a hyrdaulic pump. For the record, I just IM'ed Matt at work to ask what the "pump thingie" was. (just keepin' it real, folks)

Sometimes you get a stubborn log and Matt, with his strong Man-arms has to show it a thing or two.

Oh yeah! You TELL 'em Mattie!

And sure enough~ he gets that piece of wood to submit to him, right and proper.


But most of the time it works splittingly well. (Ha! I crack myself up!) HA HA! CRACK myself up! hehe

***

Now MY job, is to "catch" the pieces that are split and toss them into the bucket of the tractor.

Which is on par to working your obliques, your abdominals, shoulders, back, triceps, biceps and...well-a fully body workout. In my opinion, anyway.

SOMETIMES, my job is to keep the large halves that need to be cut again from falling to the ground. Because that would hurt! and my toesies and I have a special relationship.

After the bucket is loaded full up, Matt hops on the tractor and heads to dump the load into the truck.

Now would be a good time to mention that we own neither the tractor nor the truck nor the woodsplitter. Matt's parents graciously let us use them. So~you KNOW what Matt dreams about at night.

See?! He's trying to butter me up...

When he sees it just doesn't work, he gets his head back in the game and gets the load dumped and sets the tractor up again.

Oh~ you are saying "Ah. That isn't all that much work." I hear ya people and I have to say- "IT SHO' IS!" Because that tractor bucket gets filled up 4/5 times for a small load and more than that for a large load. That's a lot of wood to be chuckin', thankyouverymuch.

replaced

Me, dressed in Matt's warm and comfy coveralls and Shamik, my devoted Siamese from way back in the days of middle school. (He's not only still kicking, but no worse for the wear!)

I began the morning dreading wood-splitting time. Whenever I split wood, I am sore for the rest of the night.

But as we were splitting wood, it suddenly dawned on me I was enjoying myself. Just being NEAR Matt does that to me.

THEN, it occurred to me, that in the not so distant future, my young son will be old enough to take my place as Matt's wood-splitting sidekick, and THAT realization sort of made me sad.

That was enough to make me be a bit more thankful for the season of life we are in presently. We are shouldering all the work ourselves, and that is hard...but we are doing it together and that makes it worthwhile.

Not to mention, when I collapsed into bed with aching abs, back and shoulders--I knew I could actually say I had exercised without meaning too. And you know, I LIVE for those moments! :-)

As if that weren't enough

Later that night...

a bonfire was born.

The children eagerly followed Mattie outside, bundled as quickly as they could and left me to prepare dinner in the quietness of an empty house. Baby swung contentedly in the living room, candles flickered in the dining room while the sound of boiling water melding with Beethoven and Tchaikovsky.

After rubbing circles with my finger for eye holes, I would steal occasional glances from the steamed kitchen windows to keep eyes on my lovelies. Even without the eyeholes, vague orange shapes would flicker through the translucent haze.

Torched were the many fallen trees branches, brush, and weeds that were cluttering one of the only flat areas of land close to the house. There is much more to do, but my! what a difference a few hours of work can make!

My hope is to use this spot for my garden. A perfect spot, sandwiched between creek and apple tree and just down the embankment from the patio porch, where I can sip my sweet tea and write letters all the while enjoying the view of my hard work.

Many a deer (and even a bear) were spotted in this area, so a good fence will be a must. But deer, I'm afraid, are rampant all over the property, so this area I suppose will be as good as any.



Is there anything more wonderful than the sight of a strong, able man with an ax?!?! I think not.


And a boy with mismatched mittens. Not because he doesn't know how to match, mind you, but because he's a little lost kitten who can't seem to keep track of both mittens at the same time.


I love that my children can be witness to the warm, sparking orange flames of a bonfire on a chilly February evening as they work alongside their Papa. I'm ever so thankful for that.