I’ve written before about my love of firewood. In general, the idea of heating my home through my own labor is appealing, and satisfies my masculine heart. In the Twelve Acre Woods, it seems like there is always just enough wood blown down or fallen over to keep the supply of fuel at an adequate state. I don’t like to cut healthy trees down if I can avoid, and have only done that once. But I also don’t like burning old rotting wood. I try to keep an eye out, especially after a storm, for newly fallen but otherwise good wood. I have piles in various states of preparation scattered about. It’s mostly red oak and hickory in the Twelve Acre Woods, and up to now, all I’ve used for firewood has been the oak.
Until lately, that is. We had a hickory tree that fell over across one of the trails and I’ve been cutting that up the last week or so. It’s all cut into logs now, waiting to be split. Further down the trail there’s another small stack of logs, and I have a third, larger stack of oak logs at a neighbor’s house that they generously donated to the cause. Eventually I’ll get to it all. I’m actually a bit behind; I like to get all the cutting, splitting, and stacking done before winter, but this year, it just didn’t happen. My soul has been a bit short of fuel, I guess, and I haven’t had the motivation to get outside and do it.
It’s a circular problem, really. Self-perpetuating. I find when I do get outside and spend some time in nature, soaking in God’s creation, working the land as He intended a man to do, it feeds my internal fire to do more. And not just more firewood work, but just more of what He created me for overall. Getting outside clears out the ashes in my heart, allowing the fire to burn hotter and longer.
John Eldredge writes about the needs of the masculine heart comprising a battle to fight, a beauty to win, and an adventure to live. I feels these needs deeply when I am outside in my woods, assessing my firewood situation, and earning the satisfaction that I know a winter fire will bring. Seeing my beautiful wife content, sipping a hot toddy under a warm blanket in front of he wood stove, and the Wonder Beagles curled up by the fire, my heart is fueled by the graciousness of God in providing not only the firewood, but the joy of living out of the Man’s heart he gave me.