Julia Versus The Woodpile

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: We’ve been talking a lot about fall these past weeks (no surprise) and I’ve mentioned in passing one of my biggest seasonal chores: The Woodpile. My relationship with my woodpile is like that with a temperamental and demanding beau; requiring excellent timing, care, and regular daily attendance.

 

The first appearance of The Woodpile is in August, when I order two cords of unseasoned wood. For those of you who don’t heat with large vegetable cellulose, ‘unseasoned’ means the split logs have been cut less than five months ago. I buy unseasoned because it saves me around a hundred bucks and I have a large enough area between my barn and driveway that I can comfortably let an enormous pile o’ wood sit around untouched for a few months. As to the two cords, the actual measurement is  4'x8'x2'8", but my photos will give you a better idea. It’s simultaneously a WHOLE lot and, by the end of February, barely enough.

 

The wood sits basking in the late summer and early autumn sun for a few months; then the ‘timing’ portion of the job kicks in. In the first months, there’s no need for me to leap and caper about trying to cover its vast bulk with tarps whenever it rains. It has plenty of time to get damp and dry out again. And I never want to rush getting it down to my wood room, since there’s less air and more unidentified small mammals circulating down there, and very little light. (Back when the kids were small, Ross kept them out of the place by telling them there was a witch lurking down there. I didn’t entirely approve, but if there was a witch anywhere on the property, a semi-underground space braced against a crumbling stone wall would be it.)

 

So I like to let The Woodpile season as long as possible aboveground. However! It then becomes a race: me and my little wheelbarrow against the coming November rains and the inevitable snowfall. Right around the last week or two of October, I begin my work, armed with the aforementioned wheelbarrow, deerskin work gloves, a can-do attitude and several episodes of the Fall of Civilizations podcast loaded on my phone. (There’s nothing like hearing about the utter failure of the early Greenland colony to make you feel better about endless manual labor.)

 

This is supposed to be the final form.

I personally think it would make a great reality series: can one woman of a certain age get two cords stacked in the wood room before the snow flies? Well, maybe it would be better as a video game. Add points for every wheelbarrow load that goes down into the sort-of-subterranean depths,  and for every LL Bean tote full that gets stacked indoors. Extra fun deciding which stove or fireplace to set the logs next to! Deduct points for 1) straining muscles 2) splinters 3) accidentally dropping the wood and terrifying the poor dogs.

 

Around this time, I start getting obsessive about the weather. I buy two new tarps and if Weather.gov even hints at rain, I spread them over the wood like a mother tucking in a large and unwieldy child. (Unless I forget to check, and I see it start to rain while sitting at my desk and have to race out to do the job. Better me getting wet than the firewood.) Snow is also a real worry, but the worst is having some of the outdoor pile remaining when we get icy rain. Snow, you can brush off. Ice means defrosting individual logs indoors - which means about eight pieces of wood per day. 

Despite the undeniable drawbacks, I keep hauling and stacking year after year. Why? Well, unlike most of you reading this, my house is heated with fuel oil (play The Beverly Hillbillies theme in your head right now) and wood is a LOT cheaper than black gold. Also, my routine makes for a heck of a workout. No trips to the gym or expensive gear required! And finally: there's nothing like sitting by a blazing fire - it's warmth, community (every animal draws nigh) and primal relaxation therapy all rolled into one.

How about you, dear reader? Any major chores you have to deal with year after year?