On odd logs
that are tough to stack
Uniform wood is great.
Even grained, it just pops apart when you hit it with an axe. It doesn’t have any of those knotty bits making life difficult for everybody.
Uniform wood splits great and stacks easily.
It conforms to my will and desires.
It dries readily and fits into the wood stove beautifully.
But the odd logs?
The knotty ones?
They stick around.
They stick around because I haven’t the patience to deal with their irregularities.
They’re tough to split.
They make a mess of the woodpile and they’re a pain in the arse to cram into the stove.
Eventually though?
When I want to create something wonderful, when I want to carve or whittle, I don’t go to my well stacked woodpile. I dig out some oddball piece of firewood so ugly the wood stove wouldn’t take it.
And then, my knife in conversation with these grains going madly off in all directions.
That’s how I’ve been whittling away at life.
The great sage Tom Cochrane once said “Life is a higher. I’m gonna ride it all night long”
He came close.
Life is not a highway.
Life is a woodpile, I’m going to stack it all night long.
Go fart in a bathtub you gaseous fools.