Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.After many winters of evolution, frontier life has no appeal
By J. G. Fabiano My father used to tell me times have a tendency to repeat. The older I get the more wisdom I see in his statement. This is going to be a very difficult year for all of us in New England and everywhere the weather turns cold. Oil and natural gas prices are destined to hit all time highs and many of us are looking for alternative ways of heating our homes. Because we failed to perfect non-petroleum based fuels we have to go back to how many of us heated our homes a few decades ago. In other words, I am seriously considering going back to the wood burning stove. I remember my first winter in Maine almost three decades ago. I was very proud of my home near the coast. I also knew it was my responsibility to make sure my family was secure and warm. Back then the price of oil was not high. The problem was I had little money. So, I decided to become one of the many independent home owners who used wood to heat their home. My first wood delivery was exciting both for me and my family. A very large flatbed truck slowly backed down my driveway and delivered a four cord load of tree-length hard wood. I was actually looking forward to playing the part of Paul Bunyan cutting, splitting, and stacking my wood in order to have my family stay toasty warm for the winter. After I paid the driver and pulled out my 16 inch electric chain saw and my ten-pound mall I was ready to begin the task. The first thing I had to do was move one of the logs off the pile and down to the end of the driveway where my cutting would begin. This looked a lot easier then it was. At first I tried to lift one end of the top log. It did not move. I looked under it to see if one part of the log was stuck but to my dismay the reason it did not move had everything to do with gravity. Walking over to the middle of the pile I tried to roll the top log off the pile. In this I succeeded but because of the law of inertia the log did not stop on my driveway. It continued to spin its way off my driveway and into the trench. This would not be the first log I cut that day. After about an hour of huffing, puffing, and of course pain I was finally able to drag, roll, and pull one of the logs to where I could reach it with my brand new electric chain saw. Trying to remember all of the frontier movies I saw in the past I knew I had to cut off a piece of the log in order to use it as a base to split the wood. I measured out a three-foot cut, plugged my chain saw in, and proceeded to attempt to cut through the log. A few minutes later I found myself at the local hardware store looking for a new gas-powered chain saw. The one I had didn’t even make a notch in the log but rather spun out of control and ended up on the ground in a sparking and smoking state. Coming back to the log with my new 32-inch gasoline powered chain I again began the task of keeping my family warm for the winter. After filling my ‘man’s machine’ with gas and oil I held the saw, grabbed the pull cord, and started what I hoped would be a means of cutting through the log like a warm stick of butter. The machine exploded with the chain whirring and the engine sounding as though I just started an Oldsmobile 442 with no muffler attached to it. I clearly remember this was the year I used the term, ‘what’ more often then not. But the machine did what it had to do. It cut deep into the log making perfect pie like slices of 10 inches in thickness. Another problem that day was I forgot to keep my mouth closed. For the next few weeks I found pieces of hardwood hiding in every part of my gums that no tooth brush had the capacity to dislodge. I have to admit the bark tasted better then the wood because it had a smoother texture. Slice after slice of the log I cut burying myself deeper in saw dust but daring not to stop in fear my young back would make me stop for good. After I finished my first log I was proud of my accomplishment.Then my eyes caught the rest of the logs in a pile and I knew this would not be a one day task. In fact, I hoped I would be able to finish before the first sign of spring. A few days later and many tubes of Ben Gay emptied I finally sliced all of the logs. It took me many tanks of gas and a half-dozen chain to complete the task. But, now it was time to split pieces of wood in order to fit my stove. I placed the first three-foot section of log on its base to be used to place the smaller slices on in order to split them. I found out that no matter how many times you split a log the pieces still weigh more then anything I had ever tried to lift before. It took me 10 minutes to place my first slice on the base. Waiting a few seconds to make sure I did not permanently injure myself I grabbed the mall that I had leaning near my deck. I discovered something else that day. Calling a ten-pound mall a ten-pound mall had to be someone’s idea of a sick joke. The mall felt like it weighed more then my house. I would not be stopped here. After days of pushing, rolling, cutting, and sweating I grabbed that mall, spit on my blistered hands, and raised it over my head in order to have gravity help me split my first slice of wood. With one loud yelp the mall was swung over my head and came down exactly where I wanted it to come down. I learned that when they call wood hard they really mean it is hard. The mall barely cut into the slice of wood and sent massive vibrations through the handle and into every cell of my body. My wife told me later I stood there motionless for about five minutes holding onto the mall that was now attached to the wood. I told her I did this in hopes I did not critically injure something I may have had use for later on in life. To my surprise I did not. Weeks later and almost into the Christmas season I finished the job of splitting the wood. My yard looked like a war zone with broken mall handles and pieces of saw chain dropped where they met their demise. I lost 15 pounds that year and probably 15 years that were supposed to be placed at the end of my life. But, the job was almost done. All I had to do now was neatly stack my firewood in a space under my deck. I assumed this was going to be the easiest part of my task but after banging my head a few dozen times and burning through a couple of dozen gloves the wood pile never seemed to get smaller. I was convinced some mischievous God kept on creating a new piece of wood every time I placed a piece under my deck. Christmas was getting close because in my task of stacking my wood it began to snow on me. I discovered another interesting fact about wood that year. There are many varieties of bugs that reside deep in wood. These insects do not look like normal insects but rather have a thick black skull even my mall could not break through. I also discovered why one should never place their wood pile under their house. These same bugs do not like the cold and find their way into the very homes the wood is supposed to heat. Years past and I continued to attempt to heat my house with wood. The following winter I purchased six-foot sections of logs in an attempt to stay alive. After that I purchased three-foot sections and then 18-inch section that only had to be split. After that came 18-inch split pieces of wood that only had to be stacked. After that I hired some kids to do the stacking. Needless to say I evolved from tree-length sections of wood to my favorite means of staying warm. This is called the thermostat. My father used to tell me times have a tendency to repeat. Concerning using wood to heat my home this is simply not going to happen. The End.
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