Once home, I kissed Sargie goodbye as she left for her annual physical in Norway, Michigan, an hour away. I busied myself by hauling in the first of three loads of firewood.
Two trees, maple and ash, had already been sawed into burnable lengths which made the job fairly easy.
Easy, that is, until I began trying to split several large pieces that had been stacked in back of the sheds earlier this summer. Too heavy to lift onto the splitter, I resorted to the old tried and true method of using the twelve pound splitting maul.
I quickly realized that twelve pounds weighs a lot more now than it did thirty or forty years ago. I wondered how the sons and I used to swing that maul for hours on end as we processed cord upon cord of firewood.
The first swing hit the wood and came back towards my head at lightning speed.
I could hear my wood splitting mentor, Grandpa Pennington, laughing. He taught me everything I know about working up firewood and used to chuckle as I'd try to beat a chunk of wood to death using raw strength and few brains.
I studied the piece of wood yesterday and looked at the grain closely. Finally, a place was found where there might be a possible weakness.
Striking it once, twice, and three or four more times in a straight row, the tightly grained maple eventually surrendered.
I was stacking the last of the pieces when I felt a shift. One row, filled with odd shapes that didn't fit anywhere, was iffy, but I thought it would be "good 'nuff." It wasn't.
Heavy wood came tumbling out of the open shed so fast that I had to do a rather humbling tap dance to keep my toes and legs from being smashed.
For the second time in the day, Grandpa had a good laugh. Helping to carry a winter's supply of firewood into the basement of their home in northern Minnesota over fifty years ago, the old man emphasized how important it was to lock the pieces into each other to form a solid row.
Whoops. Hope you weren't looking, Grandpa.
It was a very humble person who picked up the pieces and this time, locked each piece into the other until the rows were tall and solid.
Sargie returned home yesterday afternoon wearing a big smile. The girl had a great physical.
Mississippi Brother Garry and Miss Jody are leaving their home outside of Laurel, Mississippi, today and heading this way. We've been looking forward to their visit all summer and no doubt, the days between now and their arrival towards the end of the week will drag.
As I've mentioned previously, Garry and I have emailed each other, daily, for nearly forty years. Graduates of the University of Southern Mississippi, we both were band directors in our previous lives and we bonded early on. It's been a brotherly love that's bound us together for decades.
With the forecast calling for wind, cloudy skies, and chilly temperatures, I'm going to finish a bowl before cleaning the shop today.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
With nearly six full cords of wood stacked in the sheds or portable garage, we should be in great shape for the coming winter.
No comments:
Post a Comment