Five hours’ sleep. I’d drifted off around 9pm, maybe a few minutes before. I was warm under my three blankets and Smudge was warm under her two. The moment I poked my nose out from beneath the covers, however, I was greeted by the bite of cold air.
The Heeler asked to go out. She’d have to wait, because (for both of us) stoking the woodstove first was more important.
Outside, I was surprised to see that we’d gotten a dusting of snow. Everything that softened in the sun over the previous several days was frozen solid again. The well-trampled driveway offered all the footing of greased cobblestones, so I had to be extra-careful, lest Miss Smudge pull me down.
Once back in the cabin, we took care of business and took up our positions in front of the fire.
So then, what were the conditions on The Mountain at 2am Saturday morning? Here’s a rundown:
- Temperature outdoors: 11°F
- Wind: NNW 11mph, 16mph gusts
- Wind chill: -3°F
- Temperature in the bedroom: 49°F
- Temperature in the living room: 53°F
- Flue temperature: (cold, no reading)
I’d like to point out that achieving even that level of briskness in the cabin required running every heat-producing device at my disposal, all night, with the exception of the propane heater. From there, my objective was to rebuild temp in the woodstove’s thermal mass and feed it enough fuel to keep it there.
By 2:45am, flue temperature had reached 400°F. It topped out at 550°F and, an hour after wakeup, the living room was at 60°F and climbing — slowly. The bedroom, situated at the opposite end of the cabin, wouldn’t get anywhere close to “warm” until after noon.
Smudge and I, because we’re smart, stayed put in the living room.
Don’t construe any of what I just said as complaining — I simply described our life in an unfinished space. The woodstove is putting out all it can. Supplementing it with electric heat is necessary, though expensive. (My most recent Entergy bill was triple the one I paid a couple of months ago.)
The dog and I aren’t merely managing or surviving — we’re thriving. Right, Smudge?
The combination of sloppy snow cover and bitter cold means that I won’t devote this weekend to harvesting firewood. Sunshine, at least, makes the teens more tolerable for chores that still have to be done.
Yesterday wasn’t a Monday, and this isn’t your typical how-to infographic from The Art of Manliness, but I decided that “A Field Guide to Animal Scat,” published Saturday, was worth sharing.
Scrolling down the page yesterday, I came to “Related Posts,” which are generated by the website’s algorithm to encourage further reading (and more clicks). WordPress does the same here on Ubi Libertas Blog, of course.
According to this virtual wizard, after reading a post about critter shit you’ll definitely want to check out “A Field Guide to Regional Hot Dog Styles” and “A Field Guide to Military Hand Signals.”
Naturally.
The algorithm keyed off of the phrase “a field guide to,” obviously, and ignored the posts’ content. That in itself is instructive, it seems to me — as we do our surfing and follow threads across the wwWeb, what’s “suggested” to us is largely irrelevant.
I maintain a relentless focus on living in the present. I’m also human, so there are times when I look backward at what can’t be undone or peer into the future at things over which I have no control.
It was the latter that tripped me up briefly yesterday morning, prompted by the arrival of an unaffordable electric bill. My reaction took the form of a question.
What if this life is unsustainable?
And maybe it is.
Because I can neither predict nor control how all this turns out — beyond each moment, one at a time — I resolved to engage immediately in work that’d yank me back into the present.
It involved firewood, of course.
I chose two of the girthy rounds remaining from the roadside oak and attacked them with a three-pound hammer and the Wood Grenade wedge. That effort produced ten splits.
Putting away the wedge, I picked up my ax and turned ten splits into 27 stove lengths.
I added that wood to the stack I began the day before, on the new pallet.
It felt great to make another contribution, however modest, to next year’s stores. But the best part?
This:
Those six big rounds are all that’s left of the roadside oak. What once was a huge pile of cordwood-to-be, destined to be processed with power equipment, has been reduced to just six rounds.
By me. By hand. By force of will.
I can’t say what the future holds for me. All I know for sure is that I will never, ever quit.
As I walked back to the cabin, I looked upslope toward the summit. Tall cedars standing against the azure sky. The rocks of The Citadel, capped with snow.
I felt great peace. This is where I am. This is where I belong.
Finally today, I want to address readers who’ve seen me using the “Wood Grenade” wedge and either are considering adding it to their woodswork arsenal or own one already.
In cross-section, the Wood Grenade has four lobes. Two opposing lobes come to a point, like triangles; the other two are squarish with flat faces.
I’ve found that it matters how the wedge is oriented in the wood — that is, one particular way works better.
When splitting, regardless of the tool being used, it always helps to take advantage of existing cracks in the end grain. That’s true of the Wood Grenade as well, but it does its crude job more effectively when the pointed lobes align with a fissure, which puts the flat lobes against the walls as it’s hammered down.
The flats offer more surface area. They do a much better job (compared to the points) of pushing the wood apart. In my experience, that makes the wedge easier to drive, too.
The animated gif above illustrates what I mean. Give it a try.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable