Fate sits by the pasture gate as I toss wood into the woodshed. She must know by now, I think, that we’re not going to the sheep.
But it’s her place. If Fate is in the back yard I always know where she is.
By the time I tossed the last of the wood inside the shed, it was too dark for me to stack it. But at least, when Gregg drops off the next cord, he’ll be able to dump it right in the doorway. That way I won’t have to throw it as far.
I always think of Nichole, when I toss wood.
A couple of years ago, before I got into doing the wood by myself, she helped with the stacking. The first time I saw her throw the wood from the pile into the shed, I thought it was genius.
I used to walk into the shed with two pieces of wood at a time. I don’t know why I never thought to throw it, then stack it once it was inside. It’s quicker and easier.
One day Nichole showed me the old photos of all the wood she helped her father stack when she was a kid. He cut firewood for a living. It seemed to go on for miles.
I have room for two more rows in the shed and I’ll fill in the space between the rows leaving enough room to open the door that leads into the house. I’ll stack two more rows of wood outside the shed and that will be enough to get us through next winter.
