There are really few essential material things I absolutely need for the good life; a roof over my head, pure water, fresh air, clothes to cover and protect me, wholesome food and wood for a good fire in winter. These are the tangible things.
When that old wood truck rattles up the driveway loaded with wood, I greet it with joy and a little apprehension. When I set eyes on the first piece of wood, I am always immensely relieved, when it is good. This year my wood is beyond good, it is excellent.
The chunks of maple are the right size, the right quality, and the right dryness. This almost makes me look forward to winter and evenings by the fire.
In some years past, the wood delivered was just good enough or almost good enough. I didn't know my wood. In years that followed, they were good enough and sometimes more than good enough. The odd piece of poplar is ok but... Birch is good, though in my mind it hovers between soft and hard wood.
At the cottage we had logs from an old oak tree that would burn in the big stone fireplace, for eighteen hours. The wood from the ironwood tree gave a new dimension to the concept heavy. The wood from the elms was burned with love and respect. These trees had been long time friends.
My mother loved the scent of the smoke from the apple trees. As a child, I loved the fireworks of the cedar.
The stacked maple, row on row, let's me breathe easy. A fine fire will burn in my stove.
When fall arrives, firewood will be moved from the barn to the porch. On the very cold nights, it is challenge enough to bring in the wood from the porch, to the pile by the stove. A new little grandbaby will be welcomed into my family in autumn. Arms will be busy holding the sweet new life.
I sometimes love stacking wood. I hope I will have the stamina for both wood and baby. Both will warm my heart.
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