Summer First Harvest Moon
Felled an oak today, about 8 inches thick. It was too close to other oaks, competing with them. As I build up our firewood supply, I also think about pruning the forest, trying to put into practice advice given to me years ago by a member of the DNR’s forestry team. It has taken about 18 years to get started; I don’t like to rush into things.
Every time I use a chainsaw it takes me back to the not-so Peaceable Kingdom. That was my first and most all-in back to the land moment. I gave up urban life, a good job and seminary to move onto the 80 acre farm Judy and I bought. You know the story, she leaves for good shortly after I get there.
That left with me a woodburning stove for heating and one for cooking, so I had to have firewood. On our 80 there was a small forest, larger than the one out here with plenty of firewood ready for harvest. I’d put my Jonsered in the bed of my green International Harvester pick-up, drive into the woods, cut down a tree or two, cut them up, toss them in the truck, then head back to the house.
I stacked the wood there, unless it was dry already. If it was dry, I’d start splitting it for use right away. The stuff that wasn’t dry waited until deep winter when the cold would do some of the work.
The wood cutting and using the wood stoves were highlights of that time, a modest form of self-sufficiency, off the grid as far as fuel oil went.
The muscle memory lingers and pops into play every time I yank the starter cord. Good memories.
