Thank you Gene Ziskie for the chainsaw. As I march out each day to work through a tank of chainsaw gas cutting wood in an effort to pile up enough wood to get us through next winter, gratitude radiates from the orange Huskavarna. I am not sure where I read the saying "stack next years wood before diggin this years garden." But when we ran low on firewood in the rainy days of March, that were not all that cold, I felt the saying spewing through my gut like the spewing unseasoned fire wood that hardly burned, and it sure as hell didn't heat the house.
I remember cursing at Covi when in April, John was out cutting the wood instead of working on the haying equipment. Isn't it funny that what you curse yesterday will be what you live the next day?
Sounds like the neighbors are doing the same as I. Chainsaws singing in across the valley.
So many distractions to take your focus away from cutting wood for weather that is six months away. The green grass is coming up and we are cheering it along like over bearing parents sideline coaching their kids at a pee wee soccer game. The hoop house is like a tropical paradise when the sun is out. I go in there shedding clothing and hoping to find something to do.
Outside up the hill, there is still dead wood standing, waiting for me to put priorities straight. It could frost in the next couple days, but one thing is for sure winter will come in December, if the firewood is seasoned or not.
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