This oak has been especially difficult to split, but often when you cut it and leave the grain exposed in a little rain and snow for a few days, or approach it on a sub-freezing day, it will split more readily. It is very satisfying to hit one of these big sections of log once, twice, three or four times, and suddenly notice a different, deeper, hollower sound to the blow, and watch the impregnable surface cleave suddenly into two halves, and then halves of halves, narrower and narrower. Slowly each section falls into a little scattered pile of stove wood: the fresh aroma of red oak, the chips scattered around, the THWACK of the go-devil, the fresh cold air as I stop from time to time to stretch and load the old wheelbarrow. The stack of wood grows larger, little by little, just like the miles I log in my little running journal:
It's a good thing, too, because now the weather stations are all predicting another snowstorm - Winter Storm Pax - for next week. Firewood on the patio, soup in the pantry, fuel oil in the tank and gas in the generator. The satisfaction of being resourceful!
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