Firewood

My memory of winters in Granite Falls always has the trees cloaked in thick white snow, even though historical records would probably show rain was more common. The house was heated as often as possible by a black wood-burning stove that sat in the corner of the living room. I loved the smell and the sound of a roaring fire.

In the summer months, mom and I would sometimes accompany dad up some mountain road where the loggers had clearcut, and we would gather wood scraps and leftover logs. He would cut them into sections with his chainsaw, and I don't know what I did, just watch, I suppose, or help fill the truck. I can remember the damp, sweet smell of the fresh-cut wood, and piles of big saw chips, getting smaller as the day wore on and the saw dulled. It seems like the saw itself was a source of great frustration for dad, and half the day was spent trying to get the beast to start. When the truck was finally full, we would bring the wood home and I'd help stack it in the woodshed. Row upon row, until it was nearly full. Some decent forts could be made by crawling up on top of the wood pile and removing logs until there was a hidden little cavern in the middle.

In the winter it was time to burn the wood, which was split and carried to the house, one wheelbarrow load at a time. These were some of my favorite errands. Dad and I would bundle up in jackets, gloves and hats, and venture out into the snow. I can still smell those musty hats and gloves. It was dark out, as this was always an evening task in the winter. The snow would crunch underfoot and sparkle like glitter in the moon/yard light. The sparkling surface of the snow was nothing short of mesmerizing, and no matter how many backcountry ski and climbing adventures I've had since, sparkling, frozen snow always reminds me of going out for firewood. You could see your breath in the cold. There was a little path stomped down from the house to the woodshed. It was always so quiet outside in the snow.

Watching/helping dad split logs was one of my favorite things. A round log section was placed on the block (just a bigger log section) and split with a decisive swing of the axe or splitting maul. I would pick up the resulting split wood and toss the in the wheelbarrow. This cycle would repeat itself for about 10 or 15 minutes until we had a full load. We would stack the wood neatly in the wheelbarrow as we went, and always top it off with a few pieces wedged into the gaps on the sides, and then it was back to the house to unload. We'd put the wood, one arm-load at a time, in a stack next to the fireplace where it could dry out, and it was handy when needed.

That wood pile was always a source of unwelcome spiders in the house - spiders and bark fragments. The floor of the woodshed was carpeted in broken pieces of tree bark too. Sometimes you would pry a piece of bark off a log and find critters underneath. Spiders, beetle grubs, centipedes. If a piece of wood looked particularly spider-infested, it could be thumped against the wood pile to shake off any unwanted passengers.