When we had a bunch of pines removed from the property, I asked the dudes with the chainsaws to set aside a tree’s worth of logs to use as fuel for the wood stove. Of course, I had no idea our winter would be a bust thanks to El Niño. Joke’s on me, I guess!
Nevertheless, at some point it’ll be cold enough for a fire again, even if some point is nine months away. Hardy homesteader that I fashion myself to be, I figured I’d split the wood into smaller pieces for easier burning. This elicited a raised eyebrow from Tara.
“You’re not planning on using an axe, are you?” she asked.
“Paul Bunyan used an axe!” I replied.
“I love you, dear, but you are no Paul Bunyan,” she said.
My wife was concerned because I’d never split wood with an axe before. Hell, I’d never swung an axe before. It’s harder than you think, she warned me. Fair enough. We compromised by purchasing a wood splitting wedge. Not quite as badass as an axe, but this thing could still double as a deadly weapon. It’s not something I’d want sticking out of my jugular! Just sayin’.
With a temperature in the 70s, Sunday was the perfect day to split some wood. I called my parents at noon for our weekly chat, informing them of my wood-splitting plans.
“You’re not planning on using an axe, are you?” my mom asked.
Geez Louise. I must be softer than I thought! I assured her I wouldn’t go anywhere near an axe. We hung up, I grabbed the wedge and a mallet, and Tara and I made our way to the back 40, where our stack of eastern white pine logs awaited us. I eagerly drove the wedge in and started tapping.
And tapping and tapping and tapping.
Not much happened, so I grabbed a second log. Inserted the wedge and began tapping.
And tapping and tapping and tapping.
About that time, our neighbor Brian sauntered over, great big axe in hand. He’d been observing from his yard and decided to save me from myself.
“You aren’t gonna get anywhere with that little thing,” he said, and handed me the axe. “Try this instead.”
“I wanted to use an axe in the first place,” I replied. “But my wife wouldn’t let me. She says I’m no Paul Bunyan.”
Now, admittedly this wasn’t the most manly admission to make. Especially to our big, gruff, outdoorsy neighbor who has spent a lifetime felling logs and doing other masculine shit, like laying asphalt and installing roofs and rebuilding a small block Chevy 350 engine (probably). Even ol’ Dick used to fire his gun at rabbits in the backyard. The only thing I shoot are withering glances at people who hijack empty chairs. It’s hard for a city slicker like me to measure up to these hardy Sconnies!
But borrow the axe I did, and after about an hour’s worth of chitchat — Brian does like to talk! — I finally got around to splitting some wood.
Or, trying to split wood. Tara was right: I’m no Paul Bunyan. It’s hard! After about 15 fruitless minutes, she suggested I return the axe to Brian and make a humble joke along the lines of, I’m a writer: the only thing I exercise most days is my brain. I’m not one to shy away from a little self-deprecation; lord knows my blog is filled with this stuff. But I’m also a classic Taurus, stubborn to a fault. I refused to give up until I had successfully split that pile of logs…or died trying. Which, at one point, appeared to be the more likely outcome.
I kept at it, adjusting my grip and stroke and swing, much like a golfer might. Eventually, I got the hang of it, and after a couple of hours, the deed was done.
Do I feel accomplished? Hell yeah. Do I feel sore? All over. But it’s a good kind of achiness, a testament to man’s dominance over nature, a sure sign of my homesteading prowess.
“Why, I could live off the land!” I declared to Tara afterward. “Between your vegetable crops and my Bunyan-like strength and determination, we’ll be set for the next Apocalypse!”
She just rolled her eyes and walked away.
And no, it doesn’t escape me that we’ve been breaking record highs left and right and winter is effectively over. Like Paul Bunyan famously said, “Be prepared.”
Or was that the Boy Scouts?
Speaking of wacky weather, I was at work yesterday, toiling away on an article about the history of thumbprint cookies (livin’ the dream, guys!), when suddenly, at 3:10 p.m., everyone’s cellphones starting squawking an emergency alert. I just knew without looking what it was.
Tornado warning. Again.
The sky had grown dark and ominous. Thunder was rumbling. Rain slashed down. Really, what else could it have been? An Amber Alert, I suppose. No such luck! (Err…you know what I mean.)
A bunch of us wandered over to the conference room window as the Janesville sirens blared.
“This is exciting!” one of the account managers said.
“Not the word I’d use!” I replied to the crazy woman.
We milled about, discussing plans. Someone asked if the TobacCo building has a basement. It does not. Our office manager said we were supposed to take shelter under the interior stairwell. I asked, in all seriousness, how we were supposed to track that time, being a digital agency whose bread and butter is billable hours. “Internal meeting,” someone quipped. I don’t know if they were joking, but my time sheet for yesterday has a 24-minute entry, from 3:12 to 3:36, that reads: Tornado Warning. Seeking shelter solutions.
God, I hate time tracking.
The craziest thing of all is, I went back to my work station, gathering items to bring to the shelter — Blue Diamond coconut almonds were top of mind, because if I’m trapped beneath rubble, I at least want something to nosh on — when I noticed something odd: the clicking and clacking of keyboard keys. Everyone else, it turns out, was acting as if their lives weren’t in peril and actually working normally. WTF! Midwesterners have a reputation for tornado ambivalence, but this was absurd.
Eventually though, I followed suit. The warning expired, and while it continued to thunder and lightning and rain, no funnel clouds dropped from the sky. My drive home was a nonevent. Thunderstorms rolled through for the next eight hours straight, and we got well over an inch of rain, but thankfully no more The sky is falling! alerts.
You know what? I’m actually starting to get used to these tornado warnings. Who’da thunk?
Mark My Words 
Leave a reply to Wakinguponthewrongsideof Cancel reply