Saturday morning, I spent my time working on my next book and several magazine articles. After lunch, though, I spent several hours working in our woodlot, using my chainsaw and splitting maul.
There is something wonderful and satisfying about hard physical labor that is difficult to describe. Several years ago, a huge limb fell from a dead chestnut oak in the hollow directly behind our house. For the past two winters, I have worked on this log, as it is exceptionally thick and hard to saw. Yesterday, I finally finished cutting and splitting it. The wood from the log now sits on our sundeck and burns in our stove.
When not using our wood stove, Elaine and I keep our thermostat set to 68 degrees. But Elaine loves for me to start up our wood stove on weekends because she says the heat "is warmer." She's right, it does seem to be. This afternoon, I need to work on a pignut hickory that fell close to the driveway last week, and then there's that long dead black locust that lies on the ground. Both need my attention.
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