And So It Begins...

You see, my father's house is the home of the southern branch of the family Wood Headquarters, (WHQ) this is just how it has always been. For years. No one tries to suggest that we do it elsewhere. Of course if you want to drive 4 hours northeast, you will find my Grandfather's Northern wood lot headquarters, and this it the true original home of the wood lot. Dad's pales a little in comparison to the front end loaders, Bobcats, skidders and mountainous piles of wood at Grandpa's, but in his defense there is a wood business run from that branch of the wood lot. Dad's is a smaller family operation, supplying just the wood for his house and a few select friends. This year, much to my father's sweet delight, my husband, daughter and I will be joining the ranks in the wood lot, as we will be heating with wood as well. What have we started!?! For the last 9 years, my husband and I have blissfully, easily and ignorantly heated our house with oil alone. Well, we didn't have a wood stove you see. Me? Not have a wood stove in my house-in this family? Sacrilege. No one has really given us a hard time about it, we worked a lot, didn't have time for all that wood business. But now, I am home with Ava and there is no real reason that we can't make time for the wood business now, and with the cost of oil these days... So we lost the fight. Or have we just begun? Long time friends of my father's offered us their wood stove recently. A gift- they were upgrading to a pellet stove and didn't need the wood stove anymore. It seems they no longer wanted to fuss with all that wood business either. Or had my father intervened? We all know he played a part in the scheme to get the wood stove to be handed down, but to what extent, no one will really admit to. I did receive a call from my father's friend and his wife. They asked if we really did want the wood stove-they weren't sure if my dad was up to something. Well, as I have mentioned before, when it comes to fire wood, my father is always up to something. And so it begins. With great passion, my father was in our basement, with my husband's brother, (who helpfully got the thing down the basement stairs) discussing the exciting chimney liner options and high temperature flues, and even instructed me to go outside and measure the shadow of the chimney on the ground so he could mathematically- somehow, magically perhaps, estimate the height of the chimney from outside the house. There was fire in his eyes. I know that fire. The fire of fire wood. It is my father's "pressciouss". With one of my grandfathers recently retiring from the wood lot due to health issues, my father was in need of a wood lot laborer, and fast. Winter is only weeks away. He isn't ready yet-there is no stacked wood outside, only long logs, piled high, awaiting the "crew" (which apparently now consists of my dad, and alternately, my husband and I. One of us splitting wood, one of us on baby duty) to cut, split, move and stack the endless stream of firewood that arrives at the wood lot throughout the year. And so the team has been assembled. Just in time for winter. Sinister? Calculated? Perhaps. But really, Dad is quite smart. Our free labor for free firewood. A deal we can't pass up. So we have been trying to squeeze every last hour of daylight out of the days, splitting Dad's wood in exchange for "all the wood you can burn" for our house. "I'll go." has become the catch phrase in our house. Go- to the wood lot of course, when Dad calls. One of us puts the baby to bed, and one goes to split wood after work, until it gets dark at least. At least we can look forward to nightfall to save us from our toil. Until Dad rigs up the shop lights with an extension cord. Winter is coming. It is getting dark earlier now. I think of something my Grandfather, now 87, my own father's father, says to us when we complain: " It's good experience." Being outside with your father, watching the summer turn to autumn to winter-the warm hum of the wood splitter, the fresh air, the exercise, it is good experience. And yes, I am aware that you can buy firewood already split. Delivered that way even. But don't even suggest that to my father. "Free is better" he will tell you. Now, I think he is right. But I do reserve the right to change my mind about that after spending the upcoming countless hours at the wood lot...