The wood shed

In my last post, I talked about the wood stove. I’ve also previously mentioned China out chopping her own wood. Well, upon occasion, anyway. I suspect that wouldn’t be one of her normal chores, not as long as there’s an able-bodied male on the premises. But I’m here to tell you China can swing an axe with the best of them! And why not. A lady, yes.  China is a capable young woman--and a wood stove is voracious in its need for fuel. I think I mentioned in one of the books about an Indian man who delivers wood to their back yard. When you think about it, it’s just like is done today, only now the wood is cut with chainsaws, precisely measured as to cords, and packed into, at the least, a big 4-by-4 pickup. Often you see a one-ton loaded to the gills, its shocks sadly overburdened. Pity the poor team of horses set to the same chore back in the day.

My dad was the woodcutter when I was a kid, but many is the time I helped both load the truck and unload when he got it home. We had a woodshed to store the wood in, and by winter the room was packed tight with dry wood. Sometimes it was a little cramped finding room to swing the axe as we chopped the chunks into stove-sized pieces, and shaved the most resinous into kindling. Nowadays parents would have apoplexy at the thought of an eight-year-old (or thereabouts) using an axe and chopping wood. Then it was just what one did. Cutting off my foot never--well, seldom--crossed my mind, but people, the bogey man did.

Our woodshed was part of a larger shed. One of the other parts was used a a kind of workshop, and I guess the rest was just storage. I remember my dad’s old wooden skis were in one of the rooms. But the worst part of the deal was that we had to pass by these sheds on our way to the outdoor privy. Daytime wasn’t too bad. It was at night, with the open doorways looming blackly that scared the bejesus out of a little girl. A little girl with no known enemies.

Pity poor China, with all the attempts on her life. That girl has guts!