Satisfaction
For reasons I do not comprehend, I get a great deal of satisfaction from gathering firewood for winter. I'm sure a part of the reason is that I gather it out of want rather than need. It's an elective activity. I will survive the winter without having done so. It's also something done outdoors, in the woods, usually in the fall. Further, I tend to use dead wood rather than cut living trees just for the purpose of producing firewood. It's not that dead wood doesn't play an important role on the forest floor but I feel good about not killing trees without the need for having done so to survive the winter.
The satisfaction beings with figuring out where to fell the trunk and making it happen as you have envisioned it. (It's kinda like calling a drawn or faded shoot in golf and making it happen.) It's an art. I once knew an old boy from up in the Smokey Mountains who was a dumb as a rock ... except at felling trees. He would walk around the tree a couple of time and then pronounce where it would fall, usually with inches. I asked him how he knew and his answer was "I just know."
Getting a good cut through the log with the chainsaw has its own rewards. Again, when it's right you know from the sound of the motor, the feel of the saw teeth on wood and the flight of the wood chips. It's like cutting butter with a warm knife. You are in the groove and you just want the cut to go on and on.
There is no real satisfaction I can find in getting the cut logs from the woods to the woodshed. That's what mules were bred to do and even they didn't really care for it.
Splitting the wood is another matter. Whether splitting the wood by hand or with a hydraulic wood splitter, a clean split is a wonderful thing, resulting in a resounding "pop" and the sudden release of that wonderful smell from the interior of the wood.
Finally, there is the satisfaction of seeing the woodshed becoming filled through your efforts and the thoughts of the warmth of the fireplace on a cold winter's night as you watch the wood burn to glowing coals.
Despite playing golf this morning, my woodshed is now two thirds full. I quit at dusk when it became difficult to see in the woods.
For dinner, I found some frozen scallops and shrimp in the refrigerator and a jar of prepared tomato sauce with Vidalia onions and baked garlic in the pantry. So, what the heck, I thaw the seafood and toss it and it's liquids in a sauce pan with the prepared tomato sauce and a generous pinch of crushed red pepper. I cook a pot of penne rigate pasta. Near the end I toss some fresh broccoli in with the pasta to blanch it to that bright green color and a few dashes of cream into the sauce to make it pink. When I tasted the sauce for salt, I nearly died. The stuff was as near my mother's beloved tomato soup with onions as anything I've ever tasted. I do believe that sauce could have been sold as a tomato soup at any restaurant in the world. Come to think of it, so could the whole plate of pasta! Sometimes cooking with what you happen to have on hand produces the best dishes and this was one of them. Give it a try.
The satisfaction beings with figuring out where to fell the trunk and making it happen as you have envisioned it. (It's kinda like calling a drawn or faded shoot in golf and making it happen.) It's an art. I once knew an old boy from up in the Smokey Mountains who was a dumb as a rock ... except at felling trees. He would walk around the tree a couple of time and then pronounce where it would fall, usually with inches. I asked him how he knew and his answer was "I just know."
Getting a good cut through the log with the chainsaw has its own rewards. Again, when it's right you know from the sound of the motor, the feel of the saw teeth on wood and the flight of the wood chips. It's like cutting butter with a warm knife. You are in the groove and you just want the cut to go on and on.
There is no real satisfaction I can find in getting the cut logs from the woods to the woodshed. That's what mules were bred to do and even they didn't really care for it.
Splitting the wood is another matter. Whether splitting the wood by hand or with a hydraulic wood splitter, a clean split is a wonderful thing, resulting in a resounding "pop" and the sudden release of that wonderful smell from the interior of the wood.
Finally, there is the satisfaction of seeing the woodshed becoming filled through your efforts and the thoughts of the warmth of the fireplace on a cold winter's night as you watch the wood burn to glowing coals.
Despite playing golf this morning, my woodshed is now two thirds full. I quit at dusk when it became difficult to see in the woods.
For dinner, I found some frozen scallops and shrimp in the refrigerator and a jar of prepared tomato sauce with Vidalia onions and baked garlic in the pantry. So, what the heck, I thaw the seafood and toss it and it's liquids in a sauce pan with the prepared tomato sauce and a generous pinch of crushed red pepper. I cook a pot of penne rigate pasta. Near the end I toss some fresh broccoli in with the pasta to blanch it to that bright green color and a few dashes of cream into the sauce to make it pink. When I tasted the sauce for salt, I nearly died. The stuff was as near my mother's beloved tomato soup with onions as anything I've ever tasted. I do believe that sauce could have been sold as a tomato soup at any restaurant in the world. Come to think of it, so could the whole plate of pasta! Sometimes cooking with what you happen to have on hand produces the best dishes and this was one of them. Give it a try.
Comments
Post a Comment