As much as I hate to admit it, because once I admit it it will be true, autumn is…you know….pretty much here. And that means only one thing. Besides staying in soft fuzzy pajamas all day and drinking indecent amounts of coffee.
It’s firewood season.
Scout likes firewood season.
Free chew toys! Thankfully, she spits everything out as soon as she chews it up.
Firewood season, for us, is practically year round. In the winter, there’s not much we can do, but if the Mr. is working in the woods, he’ll bring home a bit of wood everyday. He’s been known to bring firewood home in the trunk of a car. I shall not tell a lie.
In the spring and summer, we go out into the woods. We usually take trees that are either dead or dying, and if we’re lucky we’ll find blowdowns from storms.
I help stack the wood outside in rows in the spring and summer. The Mr. splits it.
Nice arm vein, muchacho.
This time of year, when I step outside during the day it’s common to hear chainsaws in the distance. We’re not the only ones with firewood on the brain. The rest of the country may be frolicking at the beach (lucky bastards) but we Northerners have to plan ahead. Winters here haven’t been as brutal the last few years as they have been in the past, but it still takes a lot of wood to heat a home from October to early May.
In case you’re wondering how much firewood we go through each year, I’ll tell you. An asston.
When the wood has sat outside for the summer, I throw it into the back of the truck, drive to the other end of the house to the wood chute (say ‘wood chute’ once. It’s fun.) and throw it into the basement.
And yes, Scout is very helpful in all this. She’s my firewood dawg. The process is a bit slowed when she has to take her full five minutes to jump into the truck, but I hate to leave her in the house. She’s my bud.