Wood

September 14, 2017

I must be getting old. A day of driving to see my 96 year old mother, followed by a couple hours cutting, splitting, and stacking wood (with help, mind you!), and I’m about done in. The sweat was dripping from my brow, dripping into my eyes so much that I had to take off my glasses to see what I was doing as I loaded wood onto the rail of the splitter. I am grateful I can do the work, but sure wish it didn’t take so much out of me. The physical labor that used to be routine is definitely not routine at this stage in the game. 

But it is done, and wood stacked for winter has a beauty all its own. It won’t be too long before it is translated into warmth radiating from our stove in the back room as we sit nearby with the dog and cat snoozing contentedly on the floor. Oldtimers used to say that the wood heats twice; once when you cut, split, and stack it, and once when you burn it. If you don’t understand that saying, you’ve allowed yourself to get too far removed from real life. Milk doesn’t come from jugs and cartons in the store, and in our neck of the woods, winter warmth doesn’t come only from the thermostat. I’ll sleep well tonight, and tomorrow, the stack will look even better in the morning sunlight. Did I mention that I love living in the country? I do, and am thankful God has placed me in this corner of Creation. It’s a great place to live, and tonight I got to do it with my wife by my side, and my ten year old grandson in the back of the truck, handing us the wood to stack. Life is good.