Wood Warms You Thrice….

Blogging challenges

.. when you cut it, when you split it, and when you burn it.

So goes the old saying.  Well, wood warms us thrice too.  We don’t fell trees and we don’t split logs.  But we do burn wood, in our wood-burning stove.  And before that, we forage in the woods nearby to supplement the wood we buy for the winter months.

This was the week when we bought, sorted and stacked the trailer load we’d ordered.  It burns calories alright.  From our point of view, it’s worth more than any gym membership.  And eeh by gum we feel right proud when all is safely gathered in.

Square perspectives

And thank you, Becky, for the idea, when I was running out of Squares Steam.  Can’t stop now …

Wood: ‘All is Safely Gathered in…..

Blogging challenges

…. ere the winter storms begin’*.  Farmers round these parts worry about getting the harvest in at this time of year.  Malcolm and I worry about getting wood for winter,  for the log burner.  So we ordered some and it came this week.

From this, three large bags of it ….

to this … in two long, sweaty and back-breaking shifts, warming us every bit as much as a blazing winter fire does. Unpack the bags, and neatly stack every single log in tidy tall rows in the shed.

You’re meant to be impressed at our hard work.

We’ve got ash, valued for its steady heat output and bright flame: and oak, a dense, long-burning wood with a small flame.  We’ve stacked them so we can access either.  Can you spot the difference?

Ash – oak. Oak – ash. Which is which?

* This is a mis-quote from the English Christian harvest-time hymn ‘Come ye thankful people come’.

My offering for Six Word Saturday.

Getting in touch with my inner French paysanne

Ariège, Ripon

Beatswell Wood.

I was walking back from my friend Claire’s through Beatswell Wood the other day when I noticed it.  A fallen branch.  A nicely rotting fallen branch.  Then smaller branches, conveniently broken into wood-burning-stove like lengths.  My inner French peasant knocked urgently at my brain. ‘You can’t leave those!’ she said, in perfect English. ‘Fuel for free!  Whaddya mean you’ve got no bag?  What are arms for?  Get on with it!’

And it’s true.  No self-respecting French country person – man or woman – would think of leaving for a walk without a just-in-case (‘au cas où’) bag.  Here’s an account of what we used to do in France, especially in autumn.

Yesterday we were better prepared.  We both set forth, equipped with large strong bags, just big enough to collect stove-length pieces of wood, or ones dried out enough to break in two.  A stout thick branch each – to be sawn up later – completed our haul.  Kindling sorted.  A day or two’s heat sorted.  Well, you know what they say about wood, and about how it heats you several times?  We aren’t woodcutters.  But we do gather it, then stack it, then burn it.  That’s three times.  That’s good value.

The path to the woods.

Click on any image to see it full size.