I said I couldn't wait to tell my dad that I had stacked four or five trees worth of logs. Aunt laughed and said, "This is only about one fifth of a tree." We both laughed.
Even though we ourselves are not farming, the daily tasks of living here are a wonderment to me. This wood is part of the survival of the winter. Our house is heated by it and we have to think about that now, in the days of iced tea and ceiling fans.
She placed long half longs, parallel with a space in between. We laid down our new logs like trellises of the railroad track. Filling in gaps, layering future warmth one on top of the other.
In my mind the log wall reaches my shoulders. It is nearly that high, but not quite. We laid down more half logs for the second wall. There are more dead trees that need to be chopped. We will need several stacks like these to make it through the winter.
I am hot right now. I cannot imagine putting on long underwear and walking outside in the snow to feed the fire. Husband and I taking our turns, going out at night and then in the morning. The winter furnace will be hungry. It hibernates now.