Wildwood by Elinor Florence

Author:Elinor Florence [Florence, Elinor]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2018-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

October 31, 1924

I have never lived in a wooden house before, and I must say, despite the temperature outside, they are surprisingly warm. Stone houses in the old country are always so damp and chilly. But I was wrong to assume that the kitchen stove and the fireplace would be sufficient to heat the whole house. George installed a monstrous furnace in the cellar with hot air pipes leading to every room. I have ordered flue covers for the holes, shaped like tin dinner plates, pale blue with a floral pattern.

We are so fortunate to be surrounded by an unlimited supply of firewood, unlike the “sod-busters” to the south. Those who can afford it hire a six-man woodcutting team, but George and I will cut our own. “Many a mickle makes a muckle,” George says, quoting the old Scots saying, “and we must save our pennies where we can.”

George is so fearful that I will harm myself with the axe that he has given me a long list of instructions. I must hold the stick of wood by the edge so I won’t take off my thumb. I must carry the axe over my shoulder with the blade side away from my head. I must never take a full swing without checking that there’s room above and behind.

Today we worked in the wild wood behind the house, and got out ten trees. George chopped them down, and I belimbed them with my little two-headed axe before the horses “snaked” them to the woodpile. We cut them into lengths with the crosscut saw, one of us at each end. George then split the larger pieces with an axe while I chopped the kindling. It is quite pleasurable to feel the bite of the axe and hear the wood crack. At all times we are bathed in the wonderful fragrance of fresh-cut wood.

It is essential to have a sufficient quantity of fuel. Last winter, after a week-long blizzard, our local Mountie rode out to check on a few isolated homesteads. The snow was so deep that he didn’t know where he was until his horse’s hoof struck a stovepipe sticking out of a snowdrift. He dug down to the cabin, and found a frozen body inside.

The poor settler had run out of firewood, so he burned every piece of furniture before crawling into his bunk and writing a farewell letter to his mother. Then he wrapped himself in his bedroll, clutched his Bible to his chest, and surrendered to his fate.

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