On being a human wood chipper
Sisyphus would love this one
Anybody remember them storms?
Hurricane Fiona hit here. I’m still cleaning up. The back yard has multiple piles of maple and willow trunk to be chopped and sun cured. Ideally, some will be ready to burn by the winter.
There are piles of logs still in need of some chain saw action. Then, there’s the heap of branches. The heap of branches is almost as large as our house. It takes up most of the back yard. Some of the sticks are mere twigs. They are easy to beak by hand. Others, I’m chopping.
One by one I’m pulling out branches and dismantling them. The branches are being whacked into two to six inch lengths. Little nubs. The leaves are being pulverized. It’s slow work, impossibly slow. Some say this is a job for a machine - an industrial wood chipper perhaps.
Where’s the fun in that?
Where’s the fun in chopping this all by hand you might ask?
It’s not fun. It’s endless. Painful. Boring.
And I love it.
And it’s not fun.
There’s something wonderful about having a task to do that takes longer than …
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