Firewood Blues
ONE MAN'S ENTERTAINING ADVENTURE IN THE QUEST TO SAVE ON HEATING IN THE U.P.
Marquette, MI – When the leaves begin to turn color and frost kills its first garden plants, people think of winter and the upcoming heating season. With oil prices on the rise, many families will seek ways to cut fuel costs, expecially after the winter we endured last year. Doors and windows are already getting weather-stripped and households are beginning to hoard wood that will hold them through the heating season.
Once, when our heating bill reached a figure that looked like first prize in a golf tournament, I decided to cut costs by burning wood. If I had only carried my reasoning to this point, it would have been a fine idea. Where I screwed up was in attempting to procure the wood myself.
In order to haul wood, one must have a truck or trailer. I purchased a huge, hideous, heavy-duty pickup that was as large as the Queen Mary but not quite as fuel efficient. Other necessary items included: a chainsaw, axe, heavy boots, leather gloves and a couple of six packs of beer. If this was saving money, what would wasting it be like? I had already dropped a small fortune and I still hadn’t gassed up the truck or the saw.
After a $164.00 stop at the gas station, I was finally headed for the woods to begin saving money. I ventured far from the paved roads and pulled over next to a magnificent stand of maple trees, intermingled with some birch and a smattering of oak. Within minutes I was standing next to a forty-foot maple, gulping in apprehension and trying to recall everything I knew about felling a tree. That took only seconds as my wellspring of knowledge went dry after a few furtive sips.
With a couple of dozen agonizing yanks on the starter cord, the saw growled to life. I gritted my teeth and sent the blade gnawing into the tree amid a shower of chips and sawdust. Within minutes, the tree was ready to fall, crackling and trembling in indecisive limbo until it came crashing through limbs and brush squarely onto the box of my homely truck. At least I wouldn’t have to move the wood very far when loading it. Time for a beer break with the mosquitos, black flies and noseeums.
It wasn’t until I turned the saw off that I heard the man screaming at me. He was striding purposefully toward me and he had a shotgun under his arm, this being small-game season. “What in the @*#&!! do you think you’re doing?” he shrieked. “I…uh, cutting firewood,” I stammered. “Not on MY land you ain’t,” he bellowed. A chainsaw is a fearsome weapon – but no match for a Remington Wingmaster.
“Y… Your land?” I asked sheepishly. I realized that I must have missed the 40-acre plot where I had permission to cut.”Your @#*&!! right, my land! And you ain’t allowed to cut no trees here. I’m callin’ the cops,” he shouted. I soothed him with my enchanting personality, a cold beer and a couple of twenties stealthily slipped into the front pocket of his Osh-Kosh Bigosh bibs. He allowed that it would be okay if I finished with the tree I’d already downed, seeing as how most of it was already in my pickup.
Saving money, huh? Time for another beer. I fired the saw back up and attacked the tree, limbing it carefully and hacking it into short, heavy blocks and muscling them into what was left of the truck’s box. My knuckles were raw and my back throbbed in agony by this time. The mosquitos, black flies and noseeums were holding a convention and my sweaty carcass was their conference room.
What remained of my pickup was now full of wood, ready to be split and stacked. I had one more beer and headed for home. On the way, a state cop noticed that one of my taillights had been destroyed and pulled me over to give me written notice of that fact in the form of a ticket for defective equipment. Another sixty bucks. By the time I got home, the mosquitos, black flies and no-see-ums were replaced by a rag-tag band of neighborhood munchkins who circled my ugly, smashed truck to heckle as I began to unload the wood. They disbanded in haste when one of the larger slabs slipped as I was heaving it and nearly decapitated one of the diminutive derelicts.
Once unloaded, the pieces had to be split into manageable, burn-sized hunks. I could just make it to the hardware store in time to buy a splitting maul. (May as well get another six-pack while I’m out.) Being a relatively fast learner, I soon discovered that splitting green wood in warm weather is about as effective as picking your nose with your elbow. I began to hammer away at the damn things, cackling shrilly. When they splintered and snagged, I blasted them indiscriminately without regard to how or where I struck them. People up and down the street began to call their kids inside and pull down their blinds.
When the realization struck that I had spent nearly a thousand dollars to save a few hundred on my heating bill and was now blessed with a scattering of unbustable blocks of wood and a hideous, crumpled vehicle, I went beyond rational thought. My breathing whistled in ragged gasps as I cursed the inanimate objects with desperate, vehement fervor. With a bestial oath, I added the chainsaw to my splitting pile and bludgeoned it until parts flew in every direction. I was attacking the ugly truck screaming, “Split, damn you, split and I’ll burn you with the rest of the pile!” when merciful blackness closed in.
“Bed rest and complete quiet,” a calm, evenly-toned voice was saying. “Give him fifteen of the green tablets every four hours.” I opened my eyes slowly in the dimly-lit room. I managed to blearily discern a balding, bespectacled man in a white coat, carefully loading instruments into a black bag. “Even if all goes well,” he added, “this could be a long, expensive recovery.” From what seemed like the bottom of a well, I could hear my wife saying, “What if he shows signs of a relapse, Doctor?”
“Have him engage in some strenuous physical activity like working out. Maybe you could get him to do some chores to keep his mind active like shoveling snow, cleaning out the basement or stack some firewood.” I was shrieking obscenities and frothing at the mouth when they came at me with the needle…
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