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Wood work

We have a reserve next to our house.There used to be a convent here, and when they all moved out in the 1980s the sisters sold some land to developers to put houses on, one of which is ours. Their extensive gardens were given to the city council as a park, and the council has neglected it ever since. It's now a kind of wilderness filled with massive trees. About a year ago, for reasons unkown, the council came and chopped one of them down. The blue gum, with a trunk diameter of about a metre and a height of about 60 feet,  was chopped up into largish pieces and left in a big pile about 20 feet from our fence.

Then followed a series of conversations between the Anderson's Bay School, the arborist who did the lumber jacking, and us, about who might have the firewood. A bunch of young men from the school community came to take it away. The pieces of ex-tree were monumentally heavy and it wasn't possible to get a motor vehicle and trailer anywhere near them.The council was adamant that for health and safety reasons no one was allowed to use chainsaws on it, so the young men swung their axes, but the axes bounced off. The enthusiasm for this particular little fundraiser seemed to wane at this point, and an amicable agreement was reached whereby we made a contribution to the PTA coffers, and took possession of the wood.

So for the last few months I have spent, whenever I can, an hour a day dealing to it. You know what they say about old age and cunning always triumphing over youth and exuberance. I use an old fashioned bow saw, an axe whose head proudly proclaims that it weighs 6 LB, and a wheelbarrow. I've become adept at seeing the places where the wood will split if struck hard enough and often enough. I flick the axe into the air and bring it down with as much force as my body weight at the end of the 4 ft handle will allow, and shave off bits that are light enough to lift. I pile them up, then wheelbarrow them uphill, and then throw them to the top of a 5 ft terrace. Then I lift the wheelbarrow onto the terrace, and transport the chunks of eucalypt into the garden, where Clemency and I stack them. About 3/4 of the tree is now neatly piled around the house, or has already disappeared up our chimney.

I finish each session with the carcass of the tree, covered in mud, sweat and splinters. My muscles ache and my heart beats at the maximum advisable rate for a bloke of my advanced years. I love it. LOVE it. I can quite see why people get hooked on the gym, only I get a big pile of firewood out of it and they don't. I can see why the old monks made hard physical labour a part of their spiritual programs. It becomes a kind of meditation: to sweat and gasp for breath; to move heavy weights and lift stuff and throw things; to  know exactly how far my body can be pushed; to do a task which requires my attention and a kind of surrender to the instinctive geometry of my limbs in motion. And then to shower, and make my breakfast, and sit to eat it in the warmth of our lovely house, knowing that the bright red embers and the yellow flames are all of my own creation - this is a special kind of contentment.

Photo: Nikon D7100; Micro Nikkor 105mm 1:2.8; 1/320, f10. Cropped so the lines ran corner to corner. Desaturated and a blue filter applied to emphasise the grain. 

Comments

Alden Smith said…
Yes, absolutely. Working hard physically at something you love is certainly salve for the soul and to have something tangible at the end is an added bonus. What is that old saying? "Before enlightenment; chop wood and carry water; after enlightenment; chop wood and carry water." My specialty is restoring wooden boats - blood, sweat and tears at times, but very, very satisfying.
26 November 2018 at 13:05
Kelvin Wright said…
Now there's an idea. I could make a boat out of it...
26 November 2018 at 14:19
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