I want to follow-up briefly on two items in yesterday’s post.
Speculating about the species of tree I dropped on Saturday, I referred to “galleries under the bark.” In hindsight, it occurs to me that the use of the word “galleries” in this context may not be familiar to some readers.
Galleries are maze-like feeding tunnels (pictured) created by bark beetles such as the emerald ash borer. An infestation can kill a weak tree or an old one, and that (depending on your point of view) can be either a good thing or a bad thing. I tend to look at it as one way that the forest manages and feeds itself.
I also want to correct something I said about my Case canoe pocketknife. First, a little background.
As a kid poring over The Golden Book of Camping and Camp Crafts, I spent a lot of time in the pages on knife and ax. I remember being particularly fascinated by different blade shapes and the way they combined to create various pocketknife patterns.
I described my canoe as having “two spear-point blades.” That’s incorrect.
The primary blade is, indeed, a spear-point:
The other blade is what’s known as a “pen”:
That’s “pen” as in “penknife.” Since most penknives are smaller and finer than a canoe, it’d be fair to call this a “large pen.”
The difference is subtle. Notice that the pen is symmetrical — spine and edge curve toward the point in the same way — while the spear-point is not.
For the sake of accuracy, I thought I’d clear that up. I’ve really been diggin’ this knife the last couple of days.
Sunday would bring us no passive-solar assist. It’d be gray all day, though not especially cold. Overnight temperatures remained in the low 40s and (for a blink) we saw 47°F around noon.
I had a couple of regular chores on my list, both on the lower level. Backing the Silverado up to the wood yard yesterday morning, I silently congratulated myself for having laid out that area so efficiently.
It truly is a very compact, very convenient space.
I began by burning several weeks’ combustible trash. Before moving on to the next routine task, I satisfied my curiosity about the still-unidentified firewood I harvested on Saturday.
To be more specific, how’s it split?
I pulled the four fattest lengths off the stacks. The first yielded easily to my ax. The next three were stubborn, requiring two or three strikes.
I ran a couple of smaller lengths through the kindling-splitting fixture, too, just on principle. Same deal — the first surrendered, the second resisted.
The exercise didn’t tell me anything, really, but it got my heart pumping a little faster.
Country aerobics continued with my other chore — re-supplying the cabin with firewood. I’d managed to squeeze almost three days out of the last full rack, and it was time.
I still haven’t tapped the outdoor rack.
If you don’t do this sort of thing yourself, or in case it’s not evident from my description, this stuff is real work. Even after the felling and bucking and splitting and stacking are done, sooner or later firewood has to move again, often more than once. There truly are no labor-saving devices to make that easy.
My body, such as it is these days, is in an in-between state — pained from the strain, and yet noticeably stronger for the effort. Both effects are unavoidable. Both let me know I’m doing the right thing, the right way.
I was made for this.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable