I don’t chop my wood.
Come to think of it, I’ve never chopped a piece of wood. I have a faint memory of what an axe handle feels like in my hand, but I don’t think swinging was ever involved.
Michael is a wood chopper, but not much these days, unless we are camping or disposing of the Christmas tree.
We don’t live somewhere with extra trees, so there aren’t many opportunities to chop. I think if we lived around lots of trees, he would chop. I might chop too.
But, all of our trees are busy providing shade or supporting homes for the birds. We don’t live in Flagstaff, no pinecones. We don’t have changing colors or groves of trees that need thinning for fire prevention. We don’t chop in preparation for cold weather.
Rather, we are gatherers.
We buy our wood from this really cool guy in town. He has different varieties, all sorts of shapes and sizes. He’s “our wood guy” and he sells it by the wheelbarrow. I’m not sure where he gets all of his wood, but he is most definitely an axe wielder.
We visit him once a year, as soon as it cools down. We bring cash, walk around his offerings, and gather our wood before the hour long commute home. It’s our tradition.
Our two indoor fireplaces are gas because it’s clean and even though the truck in front of me this morning spit out more yuck than a year of wood fires, when we built our house they had to be gas.
Because everyone needs real fire, we have an outside fire pit and a chiminea. They burn wood and I love, love, love the smell, the feel, the energy of a wood fire.
It’s only early October in Arizona, still too early for fires, but this morning was chilly and for the first time this year, I thought about our wood guy. I’m starting to get excited to see him. I wonder if his place is the same, if he’ll look older this year. Maybe he’s hired someone to help him.
It’s all unknown. I’m not looking forward to “the holidays,” per say, but I am anticipating the entire back of my truck filled with wood, sap on the carpet after the unload.
Details, corners and crevices. Cold mornings, crackling wood, people moving through the seemingly ordinary.
Fall is here, it’s almost time for wood.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Sawing Logs.