In spite of what most of my readers think, my life is not all fun and games. Sometimes I actually do something constructive, but am able to make the best of it if that activity can be done outdoors.
Sunday afternoon, my son, Damon, suggested we go cut firewood. The temperature was above zero and there is less than a foot of snow on the ground so I heartily agreed. I do enjoy cutting firewood, up to a point. Getting the defective and dead trees out improves the timber. Piling the tops we do not use along the edge of the timber provides winter cover and browse for the deer. In the spring, quail will nest under these same branches.
My idea of a good afternoon of wood cutting is somewhere between a half and one pickup load. Damon thinks cutting three or four loads is about right. I am usually ready to die after two.
Our difference of opinion on what constitutes a nice wood cutting outing is determined by a several things. Whereas I burn wood in a small glass-fronted wood stove that is more decorative than effective, he heats his house with an outside wood boiler that pumps hot water through his floor. He needs the wood while I like to burn a little wood. He is also twenty some years younger than me. Somewhere along the line, this began to make a difference. Our conditioning seems to be a bit different, also. He climbs electric poles for a living and I sit at a computer and write. For some reason, this has given him an advantage when it comes to endurance.
We have been working on another area inside the timber for a food plot. It was a perfect place to saw on a cold, windy day for the same reason it would be a perfect food plot. The wind was blocked from all directions. I started on a downed locust tree while Damon dropped two hickory trees that had been damaged in a storm last summer. By the time we got them loaded, I had almost a full load of wood on my truck and Damon had more than two loads on his.
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I am more concerned about the longevity of my vehicle than he is of "Old Glory." If a truck is around long enough, it gets a name. Old Glory got its name from the flag decal someone put in its back window sometime in the mid 1970s. Other than the camouflage paint job, the flag decal was the most distinguishing characteristic of the truck. It has run no matter how badly abused it is. The decal even held the back window in place for several months when someone threw a piece of firewood on with just a bit more force than necessary and shattered it into a thousand pieces. One day the poor old truck is going to break in two pieces from being overloaded, but Damon considers it fully depreciated and is willing to risk it. We made it back to Damon's house and unloaded the wood.
While taking a much needed rest, Damon suggested we run out and get another quick load. I considered collapsing in a heap but I hate to show weakness. "Sure," I said trying to sound enthusiastic. "We could cut for another hour or so before it gets dark or my arms quit working altogether."
The sun was setting when we finished. Driving out of our improved food plot area, I looked backed and saw a doe with her almost grown twins browsing on the sweet hickory buds on the tops we had just finished cutting.
It is a good day when a person can get outside and do something constructive. Damon has enough wood for several weeks. I have enough wood for the rest of the year. The deer have food and shelter enough to last them until we get their food plot going for them.
Walter Scott is an outdoors enthusiast and freelance writer from Bloomfield, Iowa.
