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…
“Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection. I love to have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to remind me of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody claimed, with which by spells in winter days, on the sunny…