Not only do I get to warm my buns by the fire, the cats and dog appreciate the toasty heat. My guests,too, all gather 'round the stove, making me seem the best hostess. Sometimes, they too doze off, especially if wine is served. There's no need to be stingy with the wood if I have cut and hauled it.
Getting a chain saw that isn't too heavy to pick up results in settling for one that is not really built for everyday wood cutting. A few days ago, yet another of the "for occasional use" ones suffered carburetor arrest. My man at the small engine repair shop said it's the ethanol that does them in.
My daughter Lissa suggested that I merely buy some firewood with the money I'm spending on saws and repairs. I've had two chain saws since I had the Buck Stove installed in 2008. The answer is I'm into the whole woodcutting adventure. Sure, I could call and get some wood delivered, but what's the fun in that? "Boughten" firewood is usually cut from living trees, without their consent.
I get the satisfaction of using downed wood that would otherwise lie on the ground and slowly decompose. True, it's good for the soil, but sometimes the river comes and snatches it first. It's my job to see that such wood gets a proper cremation. When I put a piece into the stove, I recognize it and remember it when it was a whole tree; sort of a commemorative moment. I believe the wood knows how grateful I am for its warmth, burning all the brighter for my rapt attention.
Setting the furnace thermostat above sixty degrees makes me feel I am wasting the world's precious resources. By burning wood, I am able to make one tank of propane last an entire year, while staying quite cozy in the process. Nature has already finished with the wood that I burn. It's found stuff, like the hickory nuts or wild sour dock greens.
Cutting wood has become sort of a hobby for me. Otherwise, I fear I would become sedentary when the gardening season is past. There is the initial scouting for wood, which is like hunting for treasure. There is learning to identify trees by bark alone, or bite, as in case of the thorny honey locusts. There is the challenge of hacking through the underbrush to reach the wood. There is the power of wielding the chain saw, always a plus for a short woman. There is the general lure of Nature to come outside and cover or uncover the wood pile. Best of all, there's all that healthful exercise.
One summer, I decided to get a stash of little bundles of kindling. Cutting the twigs with the pruner, I tied them with pink cotton yarn. They were just darling. But when I went to fetch them from the playhouse in the winter, I discovered that the mice had made off with all the yarns, leaving messy piles of twigs. Those little rodents had found them ideal for nests.
Some of us women would rather lace up our steel-toed boots and head out into the woods than shop for or wear high heels. It's just a matter of preference. My lifestyle is such that I so rarely lose a diamond tennis bracelet when running the chain saw.
