When it came to bringing in firewood for winter, it was mainly hard work but in saying that, I enjoyed it. When firewood was being thought of, it usually meant that most of the work on the farm was done for another year. The firewood was about the last item on our long list that was to be done.
My job was to handle the team of Clydesdale’s, which wasn’t really a hard job as usually they knew what to do all on their own. Every so often I would have to direct them to where they should go, but that was about it.
First off, throughout the winter months, Reg would cut the trees into logs and drag them all into a pile. There they would sit for a year or so, and once dry they would then be dragged up to the barn where they would be cut into firewood.
In the beginning, Reg cut most of all our wood with an old cross-cut saw; then, later on, he made up a unit which had a long wide belt that ran from the power take-off on the old John Deere Tractor, to a huge saw blade. When that blade got turning, you didn’t want to stand too close.
It sure cut wood though and made a hard job a touch easier. Once cut, I would stand the round pieces up all in rows and Reg would then split them. No factory-made splitters back then, but once Reg got swinging that axe, he actually made it look easy. In no time he had a pile all split up; actually, he could split the blocks as fast as I could stand them up.
Generally, when it came to splitting we would pick the coldest days as when the wood is frozen solid it splits a lot easier.
Once all cut, Laura and I would pile it up in between a couple trees that were close to the house. The trees held the firewood from toppling over, and once it dried, being so close to the home, it was easy then to put it into the basement window.
Inside the basement, we would pile close to fifteen cords, which was what it took to heat our home for winter. Every so often we might burn a cord or two more depending on how hard the winter was.
The thing I remember most about working with firewood was that I never got cold, no matter how cold the day was if anything I worked up a sweat.
The smell of freshly cut wood was another thing. I couldn’t get enough of it, especially after it was piled inside the house, as it filled the whole house full of an aroma that made one feel warm all over. Even looking at it stacked in the basement gave a feeling of security, as we all knew we wouldn’t be cold throughout the winter days which lay ahead.
Once the large pieces for the wood furnace were all cut and piled in the basement, we got busy cutting smaller firewood for the cook stove. It seemed to me we burned almost as much wood there as we did in the wood furnace. Probably not, but it sure seemed that way, as I was the one that split it into small pieces so it would fit in the stove.
Laura was pretty fussy when it came to the wood for her stove, let me tell ya. Just a touch too large and I would be sent back out to the garage to split it some more.
All the cook-stove wood was piled inside the garage, or that is what we called it later on. In the beginning, it was just an add-on to the house, built especially for firewood and our milk separator. It also made it nice, as we could take off our boots and coats before going into the house. I would have to say it saved a lot of dirty floors, which made Laura happy.
I didn’t mind splitting the wood, as every time I did, it seemed that Laura and I got closer. She would be cooking away on the stove while I was bringing it in, humming her most favourite tunes. I could have listened to her all day. But you couldn’t miss the smells from her baking. The aromas were something, let me tell ya. Seems even today, many years later, that if I sit really still and let my mind wander, I can still smell those apple pies of hers.
Once all finished and the wood box was filled, the best part was still to come. My boots were taken off, and coat hung up by the door going into the house. I then would head to my most favourite spot, which was the wood box. It sat between a short wall and the cook stove, and there I could snuggle in and chat to Laura while she made supper.
Every so often she would make me a cup of hot chocolate, as no matter what time of day it was, there was always hot water boiling away on the stove. She always kept the kettle filled just for these occasions.
Yes, for some, cutting and bringing in firewood was a dreaded part of the year, but for me, it was just the opposite. I looked forward to it, and the things it brought into our home weren’t just heat. No, not by a long shot, it brought folks closer together, made people smile and laugh, and the crackling of the flames while burning was something to behold all in itself.
The smells the different wood gave, and the pies it cooked—well, things couldn’t get much better.
So now you know just what made those firewood days so special.
With that… thanks for dropping by. The stories shared here are a small sample of my work from over forty years of writing.
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