It's All About The Language

It all has to start somewhere, and here instead of digging into an empty pocket to purchase a cord or five of firewood, we cut our own.

It feels that most of my spare time these days is spent cutting firewood for the wood stove. Providing a good portion of our own heat has some challenges, but for the most part it is extremely rewarding.

I get a strong sense of accomplishment from taking a downed tree and turning it into nice little chunks for the woodstove.
I think it is some type of manly thing. Maybe it has something to do with the fresh air, the lifting of muscle building heavy logs. Maybe it has something to do with feeling so powerful when you swing down that heavy steel maul and that piece of maple or cherry splits in half. Maybe it is some type of primitive adrenalin that might make me think something like " me man, me provide heat for house, you women, you cook squirrel stew on fire".

The good news is I am not and never been that dumb to utter something like that here. I am 99.9% sure the response would be something like, " me women, me boss, me move you to basement".

So I need to tell a little story here, because after a few days, or a few weeks, I found some humor in it.
It was a Saturday or Sunday and I was out by the driveway splitting firewood. Jeanne and the kids were outside doing something, I think maybe stringing the 2000 Christmas lights on the front porch.

After hauling some large logs from the nearby woods, I stacked them in a wall like pile near my spiting block. I pounded a old fence post deep into the ground to prevent my logs from rolling away while I took my time splitting them.
I was moving along at a very good pace when I bent down to pick up a log and slammed my forehead square into that fence post that some knucklehead pounded into the ground, exactly where I was going to bend down.

The pain was intense and thankfully it took my voice away. I never ever use language in front of the kids that they can not repeat anywhere they go.

I thought Jeanne was using a amplified bullhorn when she yelled what did you do are you ok, all I could do was keep one hand on my forehead because I was sure the last of the brain cells I had left were about drop into the muddy ground. My other hand stretched out toward the noise as if to say, "HALT DO NOT SPEAK TO ME". I was afraid if my mouth opened the burning pain shooting through my head would force me to scream out a long list of vulgar regrettable words.

Then Jordan yelled,"are you alright", again up goes my hand as if to say. "HALT DON"T COME NEAR ME BECAUSE I MIGHT BLAME YOU FOR SOMETHING YOU HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH".

With much concern in thier voices, Jeanne and Jordan continued to ask me if I was ok and all I could do is raise my hand up and without saying anything, I was begging them to stop.

I was sure if I could only utter some of those special words, the pain might subside a bit, but I gathered up all the strength I could, and held onto my head while I staggered around waiting to pass out from this horrible pain.

Then it was Tommy's turn to show his deep concern, Tommy muttered, "you didn't focus".