The smell, the splinters
Dust, grime, and ash
You’re reading Next Adventure
The chainsaw drowns out any turkey gobble. But the sweet smell of freshly killed ash, maple, and beech makes it worth it. The hunks of wood are bigger this year; fuck it, I want those big pieces on that 0-degree night when I’m tired of putting those smaller pieces in the stove.
Two weeks ago, I was going to buy wood, but then two things stopped me: The first was that I have an abundance of high-BTU firewood that is “easily” reached. I don’t use red maple anymore because it doesn’t meet my BTU cut-off. If I cut them, I have to haul them, split them, and stack them. If I can do that with a beech instead, then that makes more sense. Same labor, more heat.
The second reason is that I couldn’t face the prospect of “shopping” for firewood. I’m sure I could find “my guy,” but for 15 years I’ve been my own guy. In total, I‘ve harvested around 80 cords (1 cord = 4’x4’x8’) of firewood. If I didn’t do this, I would need to call around, find a good deal, and then make sure what was delivered was what I paid for. Then there’s the species… Since I’m a BTU snob, I’d become “that guy” who says to the firewood purveyor, “Which species do you have?” And if he made the mistake of saying “red maple” or “cherry”....then I’d have to argue about the merits of this species/BTU balance. Eleven percent of Vermont households heat with wood, a higher share than any other state.
There’s a third reason I overlooked. Being in the woods and putting together the puzzle of a forest is one of the greatest experiences and feelings I can imagine. The physicality of cutting, the physics of dropping. Planning where the tree will go, which trees are junk, and which are worth saving. Which saplings can be cut since they’re in my escape route, versus which are worth working around? Is this a safe tree? Is it a firewood tree? Will my winch reach? What will grow in its place? How much sunlight will now be allowed in? What trees will be released?
The tractor growls and the splitter churns. The wood will mold a little after I stack it in the shed, but that mold dies by July.
The split wood is wet because it’s green. Cool to the touch.
The opening I make in the sea of green is stark, but the life created by it will multiply many times from what it was before. Greedy crowns keep sunlight from hitting the forest floor. There are shade-tolerant and shade-intolerant trees. Beech is the villain in my story. Their horizontal branches are plentiful and level; they’re designed to grab as much sunlight as possible, clever and crafty.
The road I use now has ruts. Asking my forester about making ruts, they said, “keep your chains on and eventually you’ll hit rock. Then just repair it when you’re done.” He was right. It’s still a muddy mess, but I don’t get stuck. That advice was refreshing, a dose of vanishing New England pragmatism.
This is it right here: "Being in the woods and putting together the puzzle of a forest is one of the greatest experiences and feelings I can imagine." The puzzle, the pattern. I sincerely believe the closer we attune to this pattern, prioritizing it over every other pattern sold at present, the more meaningful and healthful every aspect of life becomes.
When I lived in my cabin (before the wildfire got us) we heated mostly by woodstove. I was always on the lookout for firewood. I never felled trees but did plenty of splitting and stacking. There’s nothing like the smell and feel of a real wood fire! Great post Jesse.