I heard it’s 50 below in Omaha, so I guess the frigid air is headed this way. We’ve had a lot of balmy weather this year, which has been money in the bank for all us frugal Yankees, but now Old Man Winter is getting down to business.
I’m looking at my woodpile and wondering if I should call Lashway Logging to come dump another couple of cords.
I love busting up cordwood and stacking it and filling the woodbox and loading the stove. In the Fall it gives me a sense that I am doing something to allay those buzzing nonspecific insecurities that beset old Yankees at that time of year, like being too cold because we forgot to put on longjohns or too hot because we did.
In Winter I get “twice warmed” as they say, and the effort I put into it helps give expression to that ‘F___ this sh__’ feeling you get when it’s twenty below. Good to get that stuff out of your system if you plan to live in New England for any length of time.
Some friends and housemates have offered to help me stack cordwood, but I really don’t want them to. My woodpile is like a sculpture I look at all winter long. I don’t want any irregularities.
For years I toted the wood into the house in one of those hand carriers, until I figured out how to back the wheelbarrow onto the porch. Pretty amazing how dumb I was all those years.
Then again, I got a better workout in those days. Even with the wheelbarrow, filling the woodbox is a good chance to get some exercise. I do it very slowly and deliberately, which is the way to avoid injury.
Then I stoke up the old potbelly stove and defy the elements. If it’s not too windy, I’m in good shape.