How To Chop Wood

Before you can create a flame from the magic dance between dried kindling, you must first master the match. But before that, you must know wood: how to gather it, how to dry it, how to chop it. There is much to learn before proclaiming self-sufficiency, according to any naturalist you might stumble upon under some ancient tree.

Last thanksgiving brought snow and wet cold. You may have forgotten this altogether, having modernity and central heating on your side at Grandma So-and-So’s, while you participated in the annual banality of stuffing yourself as though you too were a turkey. College football on the tele. Aunt Martha on the front davenport with her wine spritzers and trivial woe. Uncle Jerry’s kids quoting Monty Python as though Life of Brian just was about to arrive to the theaters and they were graced with advanced screening passes. Life on holiday just as you would expect it to be. Since all necessity has been handed to you without effort or consequence, food and warmth are as commonplace as the electric carving knife your father annually operates with such pride.

This may be what you know about November’s gathering, and if that is all, you are lucky. Last Thanksgiving we were in Maryland, deep into a white-blanketed forest and privy only to the hollow cracking echoes of shotguns. It was the start of buck season, and if not for the early winter freeze to keep our bird unspoiled outside, venison would have found itself on our menu as well.

If you rent a state cabin well into Autumn, but still don the sleeping bag your mother bought for you decades ago before your first troop outing, be sure to check the box labeled ‘modern’ rather than ‘rustic’ at the ranger’s office. Rustic will leave you with snow drifts inside; they will teach you where each draft swept from to bite you everywhere left bare by the bag designed for a prepubescent version of you.

We found ourselves shacked up in such a shell of a building, built on the backs of Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps. It would stay standing for another three-quarter century, but never with a belly of warmth when its absence is also felt out-of-doors.

To fight off the numbness present in each finger, I learned how to chop wood with a fury to defy the brilliance of one-hundred thousand matches.

The Park Service had enough pity to supply all that you need: the chopping stump, hand ax, wedge, and sledge. I got to work promptly after dad threw out his back again. “Be careful!” ma says. “You don’t want to end up like uncle Jerry with a hatchet in your kneecap, now do you?!” “You’re right ma.” was my reply and yet my thoughts lacked caution, just as the cold was indifferent to which part of my body it was attacking. You couldn’t feel an ax’s blade with such a chill anyhow.

Later that night, we burnt every last log and splinter while dreaming of anything but stuffing and canned cranberry sauce. Come daylight and not nearly warm enough for snowmelt, we were all huddled together and shivering in unison.

Next time, check the box labeled ‘modern’. Electricity can be nice.