Saturday afternoon a log truck and trailer arrived in our yard. In about 15 minutes the driver unloaded these oak logs next to the maple trees in the upper yard. 12 cords of firewood, on site. Winter, be damned, we have wood!
I suspect I should be more concerned about our carbon footprint with all this potential carbon escaping up the chimney. The wood in the pile is oak, mostly tops and crooked sections of a local logging enterprise. If not used for firewood, it would be ground up for mulch or cattle bedding, chewed up for pellet stoves, made into blandex or simply left to rot in the woods. All better uses? Perhaps, but this pile of firewood represents about three years of winter heat. It represents three years of not using propane that has been shipped from god knows where, and electricity that is generated at coal fired plants with coal from Montana.
The wood in this pile, will heat our house, cook our meals, and most importantly warm my backside when I come in from the daily chore of filling the wood boxes. Macarthur will have a warm place to nap in front of the cookstove, the plants in the sun room won’t suffer near freezing temperatures (very bad for tropicals), and I can go back to cooking and baking and feeding the fires to keep the house warm through the long winter days and nights.
But first, it must be cut to length, split, and stacked in the woodshed. The exercise alone will keep us warm throughout the fall. Chainsaw, maul, leather gloves; swinging, bending, lifting, hauling; steady effort, regular purpose, daily satisfaction.
Wood pile, you are a splendid sight, full of potential and promise, worth more than your weight in gold.