The 16-inch chunks of wood are in a jumbled
pile on the grass between my back door and the wood shed.
It was cut and delivered last summer and was slated to
be properly stacked and air-dried before the first snow frosted the
mountaintops. But it did not happen. I refused several offers of
help, saving the chore as an opportunity for a lad who owed
me money to work off his debt. But that too did not happen. And so, the pile aged from a bright, raw yellow to a pale, watery lemonade as it mocked me for my foolish failure to get it under the
protection of the wood shed.
At my age (senior – senior), I
thought I could gracefully nod out of the wood-stacking chore. But it was not to be. And I am glad that it was not. Without being too Pollyannaish, it seems that my unstacked
wood is now my source of exercise and sunshine -- both badly needed while I
am self-isolating to protect myself from the novel coronavirus pandemic.
On the first day of my isolation, I luxuriated in reading. On the second day, I cleaned out kitchen drawers -- interspersed with reading and
TV-watching. By the third day, the isolation began to feel real …watching
television, while informative, was also scary as hell. This is not a
random couple of days off or a vacation, it is a catastrophic, deadly
worldwide event that alters the very fabric of the way we have
lived. We, as individuals, families, and businesses are crafting a new
normal and we don’t exactly know how to do that (there's no YouTube
tutorial -- yet) or what that will look like.
But, what I do know right now is that I need exercise, I need to get out of the house, away from the television and the cocoon of my down comforter, the escapism of my books, and the temptations of the snack drawer and refrigerator.
As I whittle down the unruly pile, 20 minutes at a time, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, my mind takes things a step further. This is an act
of faith in the future, I realize. On the cusp of a terribly
troubled spring, while stacking the hunks of birch, I am betting that
this time-honored Vermont chore -- and the sense of normalcy that engaging in it imparts -- will hold me in
good stead nearly a year from now in a calmer and healthier winter when the
snow comes to frost the mountaintops.
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