Every July, late in the month, we knew it was coming. A large green truck loaded with logs would back down the long tunnel of pines that lined our gravel driveway. It was, after all, upstate NY, and log trucks were a fairly common sight. It would back to a spot that Dad had all ready, and dump its’ load of logs. Then the real work would begin. Dad out there with his big chainsaw, beginning the process of cutting the logs into 16” chunks ready for the splitter. Now you see, in those days, you couldn’t just go to Tractor Supply and get yourself a nice fancy log splitter. Ohhhh no, my friends. Log splitters weren’t invented until 1967, so in the early 80s they weren’t exactly plentiful and easy to come by the way they are now. However, Dad, being the inventive guy he was, partnered with our neighbor — a generous, wise, and quirky white-haired old man named Russ Heller — and together they built one. It was a big steel I-beam on wheels with a hydraulic ram and a gas engine — pretty much exactly as the current splitters look. So we would haul that thing to a spot near the woodsheds and get ready for what would be our Saturday job for pretty much the summer and fall.
Our house was heated with wood. In the basement crawlspace, we originally had an old oil furnace that was converted to a wood furnace. It was accessed by this small half door on the back of the house and we would stack wood near it via wheelbarrow every day. Meanwhile, upstairs was heated with a wood-burning kitchen cookstove (Read the post about that). Eventually we dug out a full basement under the house (that’s another story yet to be written) and Dad found this massive iron contraption by Maynard that became our wood / coal furnace in the new basement — Dad named it “Mr. Maynard, Our Silent Servant.” Eventually the kitchen wood stove went away, but not for many years. In the mean time, we were always feeding these stoves lots of wood.
We had two woodsheds. The one of the left was for furnace wood, which was split larger as Mr. Maynard could handle big chunks, and the one on the right was split into smaller pieces for the kitchen stove. So we would position the splitter near the sheds and go to town. Dad would wake us up on early Saturday morning with a rousing “BOYS!” while turning on the light and sometimes kicking the bunk bed frame to make sure we didn’t miss the booming announcement. (Now do you see why I like to sleep in on Saturdays?) We were not layabouts in our childhood. Noooo, no. He usually would have to work or go do stuff for the church, son it was our job to cut grass, rake leaves, and of course, split wood. He would expect us to split a decent amount for that day or if there was already a large pile of wood that was split, it would be our job to stack the sheds. Matt and I would make it into a game to see who could stack neatest, or fastest, or whatever game we could come up with to make the time go faster. Sometimes, inevitably, we would fight (as I was a mouthy antagonizer from time to time). Matt had a temper and would throw things. I remember one time I got him mad about something and he started chucking firewood at me. I ran behind the shed and he start throwing it over the shed to try and hit me. Of course, I was mocking him when he was missing, but at one point I got clonked in the head pretty good there and that was the end of that. I honestly forget how many cords of wood each shed would hold, but it was a decent amount as I recall. There was also a crawl space under the dining room (before we dug the basement) that was accessed through a small window on the side of the house that held the “slab wood” (the cut-offs from the tree trunk and usually had bark on it) which Dad used to start the fires with.
In the winter months we would make paths through the snow from the wood shed to the house. Every day after school we would have to fill the kitchen stack and then the basement stack. Usually 2 wheelbarrows for the kitchen and at least 2-3 for the basement. For the longest time, we had wheelbarrows with steel wheels like an Amish tractor or something. I don’t know where Dad found so many of these antique tools that we used, but that’s what we had, so that’s what we used. We would carry armloads of wood from the wheelbarrows to the kitchen, trying to make as few trips as possible with as many pieces of wood in each armload. We would load each other up to the max and stagger inside and drop the pile. Then of course we would have to clean up the bark and dirt. I’m sure Mom loved that.
Dad liked proving contests. One day he decided to see if he could out-split us. It was Matt and I on the hydraulic splitter against Dad with a splitting maul. We had like ten minutes and when he said “go,” we would split as much wood as fast as we could and see who had the bigger pile. Dad ended up winning, because the splitter can only go so fast with the hydraulic ram. Pretty sure he was taunting us a little along the way too. He was a little crazy with that axe! Long term we would have won though… I mean, John Henry doesn’t beat the machine in the end, ya know? Regardless, he was pretty good with that maul.
The explanation of strength concepts while working was another lesson of Dad’s. “Boys, you have to lift with your legs,” he was always saying. “That’s where the power is. Look at the size of your thigh vs. your arm.” He was a pretty strong guy, so one day he was explaining this concept and had me pick up a large heavy log round and hold it on my legs in a squat. “See, you could sit here like this all day,” he said. I mean… maybe he could have. But I was like 10. Nonetheless, I understood his point.
Finding places to cut logs was also on the list of “things Dad seemed to love to do that involved us working.” Across the crick from us was a dirt road with houses and farms on it. One such place was this old dude named Mr. Jevits. His little green house was in a small clearing, right on a sharp 90˚ turn. There was a red barn next to it and then a lane that led back into the woods. We would go over there and back into the woods with the truck, trailer, and the chainsaw and dad would fell trees and cut them up. Our job was obvious… load the trailer. I liked those woods. They were quiet and peaceful once the saw stopped. I remember finding wintergreen with Dad and chewing on the leaves (for that minty fresh breath!). We made many trips back and forth through those woods taking down dead fall and trees that needed to be removed.
Fast forward to present day. I always seem to be cutting wood at The Camp. Trees die and need to be taken down or they fall and need to be cut up. In the past, we would take the wood to Bob’s, but lately, a guy from our church has been taking the wood as Bob hasn’t been needing it. It seems like for as long as I can remember, dealing with wood has always been a part of my life. Now I’m the one cutting trees and branches, and piling up truckloads of brush to burn. I’m grateful for all the guys who have come along to wield chainsaws and trucks. I guess you could say that I was well prepared for these days. I miss Dad when I write about these memories and imagine how cool it would have been to cut trees with him here in Indiana at The Camp.
Growing up rural was not always easy. Yet, looking back, I don’t regret those days, as hard as they were. I know that they helped to shape me to persevere and push through pain, cold fingers, difficult tasks; to figure out solutions and learn ingenuity; to have fun in the midst of the work; and at the end, to to take a moment and breathe the air and enjoy the beauty and peace once the noise stopped.
Oh and by the way… the last wood stacking contest I had was in 2016 with my sister. She won because she had an in with the judge. Next time though… I will be ready, and we will have an impartial judge. Just sayin.’
I can still see you kids bringing in the piles of wood to feed the kitchen stove., My goodness the chores you had to do was amazingly tough, doubt many kids would do it today, Nice memories but I’m glad I grew up in the city as a kid.