And generally my resolutions were all about
writing…I would finish my novel, do more blog posts, write every day. But after
we moved out to the Foothills, our priorities completely changed…as did my
resolutions.
A while back, I resolved to learn how to split wood.
So I went out to the woodsheds with John, pulled on my trusty ear protection,
and set a small log—a piece of birch, a nice soft wood for a beginner—on our
splitting stump. I positioned the wedge onto the log, swung the mallet down on
top of it, and Bam!
Ouch! I’d split the piece, but the impact reverbed
into my wrists, and shot up both arms into my shoulders. Jeez, that really
hurt! I tried five more logs, each time the impact zinged through me harder than
the last. My arms were numb for two days. At that point, I made a new
resolution: to give up wood spitting forever. It would have to be the one
Berryridge Farm chore that I just wasn’t suited for. John could take full responsibility for our wood supply.
Then recently, some unforeseen circumstances put me in charge of our woodpile. Here it was, early
January—the dead of winter, with the coldest days ahead. But we had only several days’
worth of firewood. I had to get up to speed on splitting, and fast.
Luckily, since my original attempt, I’d gotten some
physical therapy to treat neck and shoulder stiffness—the souvenir from
intensive gardening by hand in my Boomer years. Still, with that awful
wood-splitting reverb still fresh in my memory, I wasn’t too optimistic
about filling our empty woodshed.
However, John had just bought a new, heavy-duty
splitting maul. Plus Santa had brought me a great pair of
leather gloves—much better than gardening gloves for using sharp tools. So,
after a quickie tutorial with the new maul, I was on my own. I set a nice dry
piece of fir on the stump, lifted the maul as high as I dared, and swung.
Thwack! It worked!
True, I felt the reverb, but not near as badly
as before. So I did a couple more pieces, just to give my arms a
chance to get used to the impact, then quit for the day. From then on, I resolved
to split a few pieces every day. It’s one of the few resolutions I’ve actually
kept—avoiding a freezing house is a powerful motivator—and I’ve actually
learned a few things.
So after 3 weeks of splitting wood, here are my Top
5 Woodsman’s/Woodsgal’s Tips for Newbies:
*Get to know your wood.
After years of schlepping wood with John and feeding
the woodstove, I could identify most kinds of wood—maple, alder, birch, fir,
etc. But for splitting, you need to look at the grain, and figure how each kind
of wood splits a little differently. There’s a reason maple is called a
hardwood, as opposed to fir being a softwood—if you’re splitting maple, you
really need to put some oomph into it.
*Make sure your wood is seasoned.
If there are cracks, or “checks” on the ends of the
log, you’re good to go. If you swing your maul and it bounces right off the
log, you can pretty well conclude that puppy is too green for a newbie
splitter.
*Watch for knots.
If you try splitting a log, especially maple, with a
knot in it, you just created more work for yourself. Because your maul will probably
get stuck in it. I learned this firsthand, with my maul lodged in the log tighter than
the Sword in the Stone. I had to hack at the log with a hatchet to free the
maul. But if a log is really, really dry, you aim your maul in between the
knots, and luck is with you, you’ll wind up with a nice split log.
*Keep your eyes on the log.
It’s like in baseball, or golf—you’ve got to keep
your eye on the ball. John will tell
you, I can’t throw worth a darn, and my aim in pathetic. However, employing
intense focus, I’ve actually split some jagged logs—windfall that broke apart in various places—by aiming my maul into one of the crevices. But I still can’t throw.
*Focus is everything.
No multi-tasking allowed! When I’m splitting, I can’t
be daydreaming about my heroine’s escapades in the novel I’m working on, or
what to eat for dinner. You don’t want to miss the
log and hit your leg with that big old maul. Which brings us back to: keep your
eyes on the log.
One last homesteader’s resolution. I resolve that John
and I will start splitting next year’s firewood this June—and by September,
we’ll have two woodsheds’ full!
