Sugaring Down by Dan Chodorkoff

Author:Dan Chodorkoff [Chodorkoff, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947917804
Publisher: Fomite

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The one area we had neglected was firewood. Winter was fast approaching and once again our woodshed was bare, except for some smaller chunks to fire up the cook stove. Jason and I turned our attention to replenishing our wood supply.

We knew it was going to take a shitload of work, but we were a year stronger and more experienced, and Jill said she would work with us again. I helped Leland mark trees, and he offered to haul out wagonloads of split wood for us to stack near the house. It felt like a few weeks of concerted effort would be enough to see us through, and I was relieved at the thought.

We had been in the woods for three days, and we had a rhythm going, taking turns dropping trees, blocking them up with the chainsaw, and hefting the maul to split them into usable chunks. It was hard work and my muscles ached the first couple of days as I adjusted. We were cutting mostly standing dead wood, dry and straight-grained. It usually split with a satisfying pop at the first swing of the maul, but sometimes I would come up against a knotted piece, and no amount of effort with the maul could get it to split. Leland had lent us a set of iron wedges for those hard to split blocks, and occasionally the sound of metal striking metal resounded through the woods, offering a counterpoint to the usual symphony of grunts and pops.

We were making good progress, the pile of split firewood getting bigger by the hour. It was hard work, but satisfying; the evidence of our labor lay before us on the growing pile of wood. Nothing abstract, or cerebral about getting in the firewood—it offered both instant gratification and the knowledge that our efforts would warm us through the coming winter. I felt like I was accomplishing something important, something directly related to our survival.

Jason was running the saw and I had been splitting for about an hour when we took a break. It was almost noon, and, though my ears still buzzed with the sound of the saw, silence settled over the clearing where we had been working.

I listened to the bird song rise in the forest, heard a blue jay call from somewhere nearby, and a crow cawed, off in the distance. Ranger had been orbiting around the clearing all morning, checking in occasionally to make sure all was well, and I was surprised when I heard him bark, then I heard a low rumble in the distance. We were just finishing up for the morning and were heading back to the farmhouse for lunch when the biker showed up. The blat of his Harley filled the air as he pulled into the drive.

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