One of the more perplexing elements of my new existence has been the wood burning stove.  How come it’s so hard to get it raging?  How/where does the heat travel, ie why am I so cold?

I ordered a half cord of oak from an ad on craigslist. Two tough hippies with missing teeth promptly arrived in a rickety old truck from the mountains.  They tossed the wood into our front yard and I stacked it underneath the deck in the back of the house.  “Looks like nice wood” I said, and the guy with curly red hair and big freckles said, “It is; it’s from Weitchpec.”  The slicker of the pair, wearing the cowboy hat with the edges curled, added “Straight from Nature to you.”

I walked into The Big Hammer, aka Pierson’s Building Center, our neighborhood hardware superstore and asked if they could “recommend a beginner’s hatchet.”  I actually said that.  The employee lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully and lead me to the blade section where he picked out a nice cub scout size axe with a fancy handle and said, “Plan on keeping it for a while?”  I nodded.  “Well then get the fibreglass handle.  It’s nicer.”

I took my beginner’s axe home and tried to split some Weitchpec oak.  (At least I think/hope it’s oak.  I am an amateur woodsman.)  I hurled the blade at a piece of wood and it bounced off.  Whoa, this is harder than I thought.  Maybe I should have bought a bigger axe.  Eventually I succeeded in cleaving a quarter log in half, briefly celebrated, and went back inside.

But today I was in a funk.  It’s been raining all day and I woke up on the wrong side of bed.  Beth’s dad, a seasoned woodsman, told us that maybe our wood was too thick, so after some crafts activity, I walked out to the back yard with my mini axe to chop some wood.

My hatchet flew with authority.  I wedged it deep into a log and proceeded to hammer it down, beating the branch against the pavement.  The 21 year old couple in the condo next door started arguing over their black Mustang GT in the driveway.  They slammed doors while I chopped wood.  I went wild on a few logs, chopping them into kindling.  It feels really satisfying when it cleaves, the wood pops and cracks like a small thunder strike.  The girl next door emerged from the condo and screamed at the boy still in the car, “Go ahead and take my car again!  You always do!!” and slammed the door behind her while I got violent on a stack of wood.

Maybe I’m a closet hippie, maybe I’m crazy, but it’s new, odd, somewhat visceral to hack up a piece of wood.  I am an amateur woodsman and a young man.  I have a lot to learn.  Like next time I should wear gloves while doing woodsman activities, because I earned one and half dime sized blisters with my performance.

Well it was worth it; I chopped myself a little farther out of my funk.

Well, I’ve started to divide my pages.  I’m starting a new blog for Humboldt County life, with the old right next door.

So far so good.  My head is spinning, but I’m trying to take it easy.