Not a lumberjack any more

Long time readers of this blog might remember that, starting in 2006, I used to saw my own firewood. The logs came in one-meter lengths and I had to use a chainsaw to cut each log into thirds to fit our wood stove. Those days are over, thankfully. A few years ago we found a guy who sells (and delivers) firewood already cut into the lengths we need.

The first of three rows is stacked.

So he delivers it and dumps it into the driveway. Then we have to stack it. The minimum order for free delivery is four stères, just a little more than the standard US cord. That's also all that will fit on his trailer, so getting more means a second delivery. And these days, with our upgraded central heating and the fact that we spend our evenings up in the loft and not in front of the wood stove, we burn less wood. So, we really don't need more.

The second of three rows is stacked, and the towers for each end of the third row are almost done.

Still, what we do get has to be stacked. We have a spot on the north side of the house, under the section of the deck that wraps around that side, where we can stack the wood and keep it reasonably dry. It's not a difficult job. We have to pick out the half-rounds so we can build stable "towers" on each end of the pile, then stack the rest of the wood between them. It takes a little thought, but not much. Fortunately.

The third and final row is done. There are small scraps of wood on top and in the blue can for kindling.

Ken and I can do the job in a couple of hours, but this year his back has been troubling him, so I did it myself. I took three days, about two hours at a time, give or take. I don't want to mess up my back by pushing myself too hard. Facing that pile of dumped logs, I wonder if I have the stamina, but once the job is done, it feels like it was easy.

This is what the pile looked like after I had finished stacking the first row.