Right about the time this year’s Winter Solstice arrived — 9:03am CST, astronomically speaking — I was swingin’ an ax. I didn’t engage in ritual burning of a Yule Log, as I did last year.
Conditions weren’t to my liking, and besides, I had a good fire goin’ already, as you’d expect. A mix of cherry and oak seemed a fitting nod to my ancestors.
Further ceremonial purification, regardless of the occasion, seemed almost beside the point anyway. For almost eleven months now, I’ve been purging that which threatens to poison me — life is liturgy. Every purposeful moment is an act meant to purify.
My co-celebrant happens to be a dog.
This is the way.
“In life, ‘understanding’ is the booby prize.”
Werner Erhard
I was feeling especially froggy Sunday morning. I fetched my splitting ax from the shed — not that there’s anything unusual about that these days — and walked across to the wood yard, intending to gauge my progress in processing firewood by hand.
After easily splitting a couple of green, six-inch hickory lengths, I judged that my accuracy was sufficient to up my game. I pulled a large, three-knot round that once belonged to the roadside oak, set it on the block, took aim and fired.
Boom. That was exhilarating.
I split the halves into suitable stove lengths, then picked another fat round, followed by two more. Same result. On this Winter Solstice, I was in a zone.
Glancing over at the pile of big rounds, I saw one that I’d never even been tempted to try with the ax — surely the only way for me to cleave an 18-inch crotch was with a hydraulic log splitter. But if ever there was a day to give it a shot, yesterday would be it.
This happened:
That took three strikes. With each swing, the bit found its mark. As the round split, it did so with a certain authority.
I felt pride in the work.
When the roadside oak landed in the wood yard a year ago, it occupied three pallets. One was branch wood and bucked lengths that didn’t need splitting. Of the rest, I figured that well over half would require power equipment to process.
As of yesterday at 11am, this is what’s left:
And I’m not done yet.
Sunday’s efforts brought next winter’s third pallet to within a few rows of the top. It won’t be long now.
To those who think this isn’t a big deal or a lot of work, I have three things to say.
First, doing a little bit each day is how I get the job done. Second, try it yourself and let me know how it goes.
And third, try it when you’re 68 years old. I feel damned good to still be slingin’ it.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable