Against the Cold

I am lodged firmly between two generations. My dad, now gone, was raised firmly in the farming age of four cylinder Allis Chalmers and eight bottom plows. We never saw a chain saw until I was thirteen.

Opposed to the western diorama of ten thousand acre cattle ranches, my grandpa's 200 acre corn plots seemed insignificant and I wondered at first if he was lazy. I very quickly found out I was wrong.

The first summer I worked at a camp in Michigan, we were sent out to cut wood for the winter segment of the season. Hundreds of cords of oak and pine were needed by the wood fed furnaces scattered about the facility. They called us engineers, a heady title for a bunch of teens from down state, from Grayling to Lansing. Eight of us to bring in a mountain of cord wood and stack it all for quick access in the unheated basements of every building. No electric burners in the 50's and today, the same heaters are used. Rustic is less expensive and every child I know loves the crackling sound of sap bubbles popping in the crisp night air.

Now I'm teaching my kids how to treat and use a wood fireplace, from axe to kindling. Good for them to know the craft.
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