Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Joanne. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Annie and Shadow wrasslin’ outside. Derek cutting down dead Lodgepoles. Ginny and Janice’s expansion project. Janice as the general contractor. Her Apple Crisp. Garlicky Shrimp sheet pan meal. Torah study with Luke. Chayei Sarah. American History.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good Friends

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Hakarat Hakov   Gratitude.    “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their portion.” Perkei Avot 4:1

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Derek fells my dead Lodgepoles with his electric chainsaw, bucking them, then moving lengths of the downed Tree on his shoulder or on a dolly to the side of the house he rents; where he cuts them into lengths suitable for splitting, carries them inside, and uses the wood to heat the house, smoke often wafting in through my bedroom window.

Wood heats you five times. When you cut it. When you buck it. When you carry it. When you split it. When you use it in your stove.

Carries me back to the Peaceable Kingdom outside Nevis, Minnesota. 80 acres of less than sterling Soil, a house, a couple of outbuildings. A woodstove for cooking and airtight for heating. And a woodlot.

My old International Harvester pick-up and I would bounce down the lane to the Woodlot with my Jonsered chain saw in the back, a can of fuel and a smaller one of chain oil rattling as we bounced up and down the swells and potholes.

In the Woodlot I would either fell a Tree, often a Burr Oak or a Maple, which would have to season, or a Birch that could be used green. Most days I would buck Trees that I’d felled the previous season, toss the logs in the bed of the truck and bounce back to the farmyard where I’d find my splitting maul, place the logs on the stump of an old Oak, and split until I had enough wood for the stove and the air tight. I was so much younger then, I’m older than that now.

A quarter of a log fit in the air tight so I’d load it full with three or four, close the door, and watch the embers of the previous Fire start a new one. If I had seasoned Oak or Maple, a loaded air-tight would burn six to eight hours after I choked down the air flow. This meant I could usually get a full night’s sleep and not wake up to a cold house.

The woodstove was a different thing altogether. It had to be fired up each time you used it. You got temperature variation by increasing or decreasing air flow, moving a pot around on the stove top or putting, say bread, in a warming compartment.

The smell of percolating Coffee often combined with the scent of burning Oak or Maple, maybe Bacon cooking in a cast iron skillet, a couple of eggs. I enjoyed those days and have no idea what I would do in that situation in this 78 year old body. That Charlie? A different guy in so many ways.