They say a fire warms you three times. First when you cut the wood, second when you sit in front of it and third when you clean the ashes and coals from the fireplace.  When you read the second reason did you visualize a cozy fireplace? Maybe you saw a "Hallmark” looking scene in your mind’s eye; a gorgeous log cabin hearth with sky high field stones and a crackling fire while you’re nestled on a cozy couch with a fuzzy blanket sipping cocoa. Maybe you envisioned a raging campfire with your circle of friends sharing memories and beers? Or a quiet fire in a colonial living room like so many old-fashioned movies portray.  Whatever you picture in your mind when you think of a warm fire I can almost guarantee it looks nothing like the reality of ours!

About 8 years ago my husband and I decided to invest in an outdoor wood burning furnace. We live in a very rural area in an old farmhouse we saved from despair and switched from propane gas heat to wood heat because we got tired of watching our dollar bills grow wings and fly out the window. With rising propane costs, four little kids who never understood that heat costs money, and, that you need to close doors, made living in a drafty farmhouse with tons of leaded glass windows a very cold existence in the state of Michigan.  I was tired of sleeping in mittens and hoodies and my husband was tired of writing the checks! So, we figured the woodstove would be an investment that would more than pay for itself so we took the leap. We called the propane company to remove the "pig” and we started digging trenches for the underground water and electric lines. (That DIY is quite the story and one for another day!) After lots of discussions and several we should have done that first-conversations, my husband and I successfully installed the stove, converted the furnace and were up and running a couple of weeks later just in the nick of time for our first snowfall on- Halloween.    

There was a honeymoon phase. We knew a farmer who would allow us to harvest fallen trees from his 500-acre cattle farm across the street. We made a day of cutting wood with the kids and the dog. The boys made rifles out of tree limbs, the girls built forts and houses out of brush and explored the woods. and the dog? Well, he found old cow bones to chew and dung piles to roll in! It was a family affair and for the most part life was good. My husband would cut the logs and I would load the trailer. We would load and unload for hours and stopped for nothing; except when the girls would fight because one wouldn’t let the other sit on her throne in the newly constructed brush house or the boys would convert their stick rifles to swords and big brother almost always broke little brothers’ and there were tears. Or when they were hungry or thirsty or wounded or bleeding. Ok so we stopped a lot and that’s probably why it took hours, but it was free heat so really, how bad was it?

Until I got my first chainsaw. On my anniversary. 

With our His & Hers chainsaws in tow our family days in the woods turned into a bona fide episode of Axe Men.  He would cut the stumps and massive logs and I would cut the tops and limbs. Play time was over. The kids graduated to loading the trailer and they learned phrases like team-lift and use your legs.  There was grunting. And whining. And more discussions. The honeymoon was over. We were like squirrels stocking up for winter.  At first, we would go in the fall when the air was brisk, and the trees were in full color; when it was hard to complain about being in the woods.  Fall turned to winter and in extreme situations (like the winter we actually ran out of wood because it was so cold for so long) we had to literally trudge through knee deep snow with crow bars to pry the frozen logs from the ground. That was just about the worst winter of my life. Then we started going in the spring.  The season of sprouting crocus, budding trees, flowers in bloom, and green grasses. Let me be the first to tell you that getting wood in the spring brings a whole new level of horror.  There are no daffodils in the depths of the forest; only layers of semi composted leaves and twigs that are wet and mossy which provide the perfect camouflage for rat snakes. I am TERRIFIED of snakes. Can you imagine how difficult it is to wield a chainsaw while keeping your eyes on your periphery every second of your existence? Every rustle, crunch, crack or slight movement convinced me that I was amidst a snake pit.  As I held my breath, paralyzed with fear, I cut and sawed my way gingerly through the tree tops and never placed my foot without thoroughly inspecting the ground first.  It’s probably a blessing that we had to wear ear plugs because even over the sounds of chain saws I am fairly certain I heard words like ridiculous, just a little snake (no such thing) silly, and you’re too slow.  We are not as productive in the spring. Summer brings bugs. Lots and lots of bugs and tall grass and hot temperatures. And there are still snakes but I’m told they mostly hide under rocks, so I had nothing to worry about.  I think I heard once that they like wood piles? Hmmmmm.

It’s been eight very long years of wood cutting but at some point, we just settled in to our reality and accept that it is something we need to do.  Our kids are now teens and the thought of spending one of their precious Saturdays or Sundays in the woods with old mom and dad is as horrifying to them as snakes are to me.  But nevertheless, they help. Sometimes. But there is still whining and they’re always hungry and we have to pay them because other parents pay for chores.  So, the heat is no longer free, but it certainly warms us three times and then some.