Yesterday proved to be one of those days when I couldn’t focus on much of anything. My mind had apparently gone to the tavern without me, thrown down several shots of tequila, and passed out at the end of the bar. I didn’t feel like watching television, surfing the internet, reading, or doing anything requiring my undivided attention. Before long, I found myself out in the garage chopping wood with an axe.
I find chopping wood inordinately
satisfying. I enjoy the physical aspects of it—especially driving the axe down
to "whunk" apart a round. Every piece of wood offers a unique
challenge, depending on the grain and the presence or absence of knots. Wood
without knots tends to “twick” apart at once. Some pieces with knots require a
long negotiation followed by concentrated ferocity.
I also have three species of tree:
fir, spruce, and lodgepole pine. Each species behaves differently. Lodgepole
pine readily flies apart because the trees lack big knots. Spruce is reluctant
to split and tends to explode once you finally land a decisive blow with the
axe. Straight-grained fir splits nicely, but the knots are first cousins to
armored trucks—you’re not getting in easily.
I worked for a long time out in the
garage, chopping rounds and large pieces into lengths of burning wood,
kindling, and what I call “pick-up sticks.” Pick-up sticks are slightly bigger
than kindling, and I use them crisscrossed above the kindling to catch and feed
fire into the full-sized burning pieces I stuff into the woodstove. I felt
better for it. My brain returned from the bar later in the afternoon, and I
read a few articles about the Beatles online.
—Mitchell Hegman
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