Ever since I can remember, our family has heated our home with wood.
When my parents built our house, they installed a boiler/wood system in the basement. It was our practice to cut wood and then throw the pieces into the basement to be fed into the furnace.
Many of my young, childhood memories revolve around bundling up in my winter gear and clambering into the wood truck to go and help Dad out in the woods. This was typically done in the winter months when the fields were frozen and safe to drive on.
While I didn’t always appreciate those long weekend mornings at the time, I can look back now and realize I was learning invaluable life lessons along the way.
Learning to Drive – Wood Truck Style
Often, Dad would cut wood on shares. This meant that we would cut one load for the property owners, and then two loads for us.
To maximize time, Dad would have my sister and I load up the truck with wood, then drive to wherever we needed to unload at the person’s house. He would continue to cut while we were entrusted with this chore.
I was probably given this responsibility around the ripe old age of 11 or 12.
It was fun to drive the wood truck because it often involved baha-ing through muddy trenches, crossing a field, then maybe one road in order to get to the person’s house.
If an occasional side mirror was knocked out of place by a stray tree limb that may have jumped in my path, well, no worries. It was the wood truck.
The truck itself was not a beauty by any means. It was a good thing it wasn’t. We were not always easy on it.
As I drove through field after field, I could look down by my feet and see the ground pass by. The truck floor wasn’t totally in tact.
I think the radio worked on AM only. There was a sliding window behind the bench seat that was held together by duct tape and plexiglass.
Core memories were made while cutting wood.
Loading the Truck & Hauling Brush
There were a few rules when helping Dad out in the woods.
The most important rule was to stay away from the chainsaw. Dad was not always paying attention to two girls, running around loading pieces of wood into the truck. We needed to stay aware of where he was at. It was a simple, but important rule.
Another major aspect of working with Dad was that you had to be ready to see a hand signal if he needed help. Sometimes he needed an extra pair of hands to help prop a small log up on another piece of wood. Other times, he needed wood logs sat up on ends so that he could split them easily with his splitting maul. You had to be ready to help at a moment’s notice.
You were there to help and work. There was not time to go exploring or mess around.
A perk to cutting wood involved the old blue Igloo cooler that Dad always packed in the bed of the truck on these excursions.
Inside were tall, cold bottles of Mountain Dew. My sister, Bobbie, and I could each have our very own when cutting wood.
This is a notable piece of information to share because having our own pop at that age was a rarity. It generally only happened when we were out helping with the wood. (I should try this with my own kids. They have their own pops regularly. Is this a failure on my part as a parent, or just an expected change as life marches on?)
When Dad would first start cutting a fallen tree, he would begin by trimming the brush off the trunk.
Bobbie and I would be shown a spot to pile the brush in a hedgerow. It was a mundane chore that could easily be done as Dad cut the trunk and limbs up.
We didn’t realize it at the time, but we were learning about work ethic. We were gaining an understanding of what it meant to participate in a group chore to help the overall need of the family.
Working hard and benefiting from the results is an important lesson to pass on to your children.
As I said earlier, I wasn’t appreciative at the time, but I’m glad to have had the experience now.
The Art of Unloading
The work did not end after we arrived back at home, although we were in the home stretch.
Dad would get out of the truck and take care of his chainsaw, gas can, bar oil, etc…
Bobbie and I were left at the truck to throw the pieces of wood into the basement window. (Years later, Dad did get an outdoor wood burner and we were then able to unload in a large wood pile, away from the house.)
Unloading the wood truck, side-by-side with my younger sister, was almost more hazardous then working around the chainsaw.
We would split the truck vertically up the middle and each start working on a side. It was always a race to see who could finish first.
I usually won.
There was a need to watch your fingers and toes from falling pieces of wood.
We would toss the wood directly into the basement, trying to be careful of the siding on each side of the window opening. We were not always successful in missing the side of the house.
Brian and I bought my childhood home from my parents. Occasionally, I’ll be walking past the end of the house and glance over at those basement windows. Memories flood me as I smile at the still visible marks along the window panes.
I don’t want to fix them. At least not yet. Memories comfort me.
Sometimes, the presence of knicks and dents are comforting.
Again, I feel like I should have called this website – BloggingForTherapy.
Homemade Dinner & Warmth
Mom didn’t typically go cut wood with us. She stayed home and cooked dinner, probably also multi-tasking and cleaning the house. Maybe she sat in the rocking chair and read a ‘Spicy‘ book. Who knows?
When we finished the truck, and all the chores were done, Mom would typically pull a roast out of the oven and we would eat at the dining room table.
Homemade dinner, in a warm home with a fire crackling in the fireplace, was a great way to end a workday.
The lessons I remember from this experience, beyond the work ethic piece and helping family, was that there was an intrinsic reward in accomplishing a task that was meaningful.
Do I want to go back to the fields, help Dad cut wood and spend my weekend doing manual labor? Not especially.
Pulling the ice cold Mountain Dew glass bottle out of the snow would be nostalgic. Smelling the sawdust and bar oil from the chainsaw would bring back happy memories, however this is an experience that I am glad is well in the past.
Our family still heats primarily with wood. The boys, and Khloe, do spend time out helping cut and split wood, but not to the extent that I did when I was young.
Are they missing out on life lessons? Probably some, but there’s enough balance to hopefully ensure that they don’t grow up as spoiled brats.
At least my fingers are crossed, hoping that’s the case.
Goals for Today
- Work on Pinterest Pins
- Organize My Books Piling Up in the Bedroom
- Bake Something Fun