First there is the outfitting: the wool cap, the plaid fleece, the burly boots, and the beard. Then there is the equipment: the maul, the axe and the splitter wedge thingy. And of course the wood.
One of my favorite times in Washington was splitting wood with all the right accessories on a chilly misty evening. The missus watching through the window sipping hot chocolate. Moss and wood chips flying through the air I provided heat for my family.
Today we split wood with a rock. No beards. No special tools from Home Despot. No hot chocolate. We gather crate wood from around our camp. Discarded scraps. Any little piece will do. Today we were fortunate to come across an entire pallet.
The fifteen pound rock bounced off the flexed board and almost hit me in the leg as I jumped out of the way. The rock continued toward the barbecue grill and stopped inches short of putting our dinner on the side of our tent. A few more hits and the board shattered into a million pieces.
The beans cooked in the cast iron pan while the pork chops with way too much hot sauce grilled on the fire fueled by the split wood that was now illuminated by the same stars that had glittered the sky thousands of miles away on that same misty Washington evening.
For just these moments I am at home. (until the zombies kick the tent)
Those are some of my favorite memories. You and your burly beard, hacking away at all that wood. New baby, new house, new fireplace. I am glad we both have that image bottled up inside us. Love you.
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