Here's the trouble. It appears to be a promising stack of seasoned firewood. Granted, these chunks are a tad big for my small wood stove. The problem is that after a month of being covered with a tarp at night, uncovered on windy and/or sunny days, in its heart it is extremely damp.
This wood would burn, if placed on a bed of red hot coals, or perhaps molten lava. Consequently, I have been cutting more wood to get this stuff to do more than char.
At Christmas, when my family was due to visit, I had no stuff that would burn. The weather was mild, but a fire would have made it much more like Christmas at Grammie's. When my daughter Izzy learned that, she brought back some wood I had cut for them a couple of years ago. A tree had fallen in their yard and I cut it up and left the wood for their fireplace, rarely used.
Nothing for me to do about the damp sour-smelling wood except split it into small pieces and stack it to catch the drying breeze. I do have an electric log splitter, but it is a chore to haul the big chunks to the workshop in the wagon, split the wood, put it back in the wagon and haul it around the house to the front porch.
This splitter, being electric, is a pleasant change from the many two-stroke tools that refuse to start after a while. The controls for the splitter require it to be engaged while squatting behind it. After doing that for a few years, I found the upended log I used for a seat was woefully inadequate for anyone having a bottom over six inches wide. Certainly not me. With some of my Christmas money from Chris, I got this nifty seat.
Not to be a whiner, but it is not the work of an instant to cut wood here. Yesterday, I pruned down the wild rose canes on the steep path through the woods that I've kept open to access the far areas of my ten acres. I had a big nasty surprise when I found that my path along the neighboring cow fence had gotten overgrown with really big strapping rose canes. The two cedars that I always drove between had joined limbs and refused me passage. Making a new route, I cut the canes with the pruner and then used it to pull them free of the path. Some had grown up into nearby trees. We are not talking about cute little Knockout roses here.
The hills here make it only possible to get to the hickory hill crest by going up to the third field and then down to the hickories, where there is enough room to be able to turn the mower and cart around. Some little trees had sprung up on the way. They had to be cut down. I had to remember where the big grass-covered anthill is that can hang up the mower deck. It's all great fun.
Having reached the turning point (and the breaking point) after a couple of hours, I drove Rosie back without cutting any wood.
Now I have cut 25 loads. This half load is hickory. I don't count kindling, which is another matter.
When I went for these fallen hickory limbs, I found more rose bushes had gotten huge under the trees and must be dealt with. This time, I attacked the thorny brutes with the chain saw, which was both efficient and satisfying. Those bullies snatched my hat several times, but in this day and age, we women are not to be messed with.
