Wood Delivery
Got wood? We do.
Calling Bob, our compulsively-honest wood merchant, has been on my “to do” list all summer. I procrastinated. I had bunches of reasons: it’s too early, Charles is on a deadline for his book and can’t spare the time, the cellar isn’t ready for more wood storage, and most importantly–I don’t wanna!
Because you see, Bob isn’t the only compulsive one, Charles and I neatly fall into the same category. The day the wood arrives, we feel we must move the entire pile inside for storage. We claim that we can simply throw a tarp over it and move it in at our leisure, but it never happens that way. There’s something about having a gigantic pile sitting in front of the house–it represents an undone job and seems to mess with our sense of order. It drives us forward, compelling much lifting, grunting, and sweating.
That’s our compulsion, Bob’s is being honest. Last year he announced that he had shorted us wood from the year before. I kind of knew that, the load he left never quite measured up to the traditional definition of a “cord” (a stack of wood with the dimensions of four food high, four foot wide and eight foot long). To make up for the shortage, he brought about 2.6 cords when we only ordered two.
In 2006 we were planning on staying in the Catskills in December and January. We go through about one cord per month, so with what we had left over from Winter 2005, two would keep us cozy for all our country visits. However, our plans changed and when spring arrived, we had about one cord leftover.
So this is what two cords of compulsively stacked wood looks like.
This morning, after getting out of bed and stretching my sore back, I went down stairs to admire the wood. As soon as I opened the cellar door the musty, rich, primeval smell of the forest filled my head. It’s better than any “new car smell” could ever be. It means we’ll be warm.
