Reflections on the Third Week of Fall – Harvesting Creek Wood

10-6-17 Driving to the Creek

    When October temperatures soared and Deer Creek ran rocky-bottom low, Spence switched from harvesting peppers and potatoes to harvesting the maples downed by spring floods. Harvesting the maples would prevent log jams next spring and provide firewood for the winter of 2018-2019.

    Lugging his chain saw and splitting axe, he baby-stepped down trunks lodged in the bank, giant-stepped over a side stream, then set his tools on his work site, a gravel island.

   He cut.

   The chain saw buzzed, sawdust flew, and a sixteen inch length of mossy trunk thudded to the ground.

   He split. 
   The splitting axe arced overhead and whacked into an upended log. Crack. The log split releasing fragrance of maple.

    He tossed.

    Logs landed thud, thud, thud on the bank beside the tractor.

    He hauled.

    Logs clunked into the tractor bucket. The tractor rumbled up hill. From the lifted and tilted bucket, logs fell into a pile.

   He stacked.

   Criss-crossed on pallets and nestled under tarps, logs dried for wood stove fires.

   Cut, split, toss, haul, stack.

   Cut, split, toss, haul, stack.

   Cut, split, toss, haul, stack.

10-6-17 Cutting

   But this week, unexpected slices of life interrupted his routine.

   First, he’d worn yellow waders, though he said, “I didn’t really need them to cross the trickle of water.”

   Cut, split, toss, haul, stack.

   Cut, split.

   During the splitting, something CRACKED upstream. A roar echoed in the valley, then a rush of muddy, foot-deep water covered the split logs. Since spring floods and the creek habitat had water-saturated these logs, they didn’t float. Spence set his splitting axe on dry gravel and waded into the murky water. He reached in and retrieved the heavy logs one by one. Fifteen minutes later, the water receded.

    Spence stepped across the trickle and drove the tractor with a full bucket of logs to the pallet in the field. Back inside the house, he pulled off his soggy shirt and relaxed with a can of lime fizzy water.

    His second interruption was drier.

    Cut, split, toss, haul, stack.

    Cut, split, toss.

    Yellow jackets gathered by the logs he’d tossed next to the tractor. Had the tossed logs landed near the yellow jackets’ nest? Were they investigating the fresh maple smell?

    With a log or two under each arm, Spence giant-stepped over the trickle, baby-stepped up the trunks lodged in the bank, and edged around wasps to the tractor bucket. Then he reached for one tossed log after another, stowed them in the bucket, and drove away from the yellow jackets.

   Back at the house, he said, "I'll get my tools at dusk."

10-6-17 Splitting

   I interrupted the third time. Curious about his tales of rushing water and the yellow jacket gathering, I followed the tractor through the woods to the creek, perched on the large rear tractor tire, and focused the camera on Spence.

    He cut, split, and tucked logs under his arms. Then he giant-stepped, baby-stepped, and walked to stack the logs in the bucket.

   Cut, split, haul, stack.

   Cut, split, haul, stack.

   After his fourth trip, I said, “You can toss the logs. I’ll move.”

He placed his load in the tractor bucket. “No. Too much chance of an accident.”

    Cut, split, haul, stack.

    The camera clicked.

   Without a single mention of the extra trips my photographing made for his work, Spence carried load after load of logs.

   The logs harvested from the downed maple piled higher and higher. Late next fall, when temperatures drop and Deer Creek runs under snow-dusted ice, this fall’s creek wood harvest will keep us toasty warm.

10-6-17 Carrying