I love days like today. In the country, at least. In town, there is always a sort of apocalyptic feel; everyone descends upon the grocery store, evidently critically low on toilet paper, bread, milk, and patience. I tend to think it's an instinctual thing. Human animals have dealt with rough winters for most of our existence. The urge to prepare for them is bred into us. Living in a modern town, with every form of entertainment and every need virtually on our doorstep, the importance of the few things we might be running low on tends to increase to anxiety producing levels.
Luckily, out here, I can channel that anxious preparatory energy into tasks that, while they aren't life and death, are at least not located in a store full of similarly anxious homo sapiens. Clean the house, plan the meals, make bread. BJ tuned up the tractor, and went over the functions of the blower one more time, since his work schedule will mean the clearing of snow will be my job (FINALLY! He's been hogging the tractor for a over a YEAR!). We moved firewood from the woodpile, up onto the porch, where it's more sheltered and easier to grab in a hurry.
Most of that firewood came from right here on the property. And early summer storm hit with surprisingly strong winds, taking down several trees. We were luckier than some: the town just west of us took so much damage that there was debate as to whether or not a tornado was involved. Roofs torn off, power lines down. For a couple days there wasn't any access to the town at all, beyond people who had ID showing they lived there, and official rescue crews.
Luckily, our damage was limited to those trees, and the baffling and, frankly hilarious, fact that our dumpster was flipped completely onto it's lid, without spilling any of it's contents. We dropped the kids off with my mom for the day, bought a second chainsaw, and got to work.
It takes longer than I thought it would, cutting up a tree. Especially when one of your chainsaw operators is a total novice, and slightly afraid of cutting off her leg. At the end of the day, sweaty, aching, itchy from wood chips that seemed to find their way into my clothing no matter what I did, I was struck by the fact that this was easier than the method used in generations past. Even so, it was fun. Hard work, side by side, bonds humans faster than anything else I've ever seen. The US military depends on that fact, as do many other occupations. Sharing that with my husband, aware every moment that the work we did now would heat our house come winter, was deeply satisfying. The fact that he told me I looked hot in workboots and a faceguard was just the icing on the cake.
Tonight, as the sun went down, the stillness out here has deepened. The fruits of this summer's labor, the dry, split wood that grew right here on our land, is fueling the woodstove tonight. Henry, our silly, crazy dog, is curled up in front of it. Likely, he'd prefer be asleep, but small children are insisting that he be part of their games. Astrid's doll is riding him like a horse, and Sam's dinosaur keeps roaring right in his face. Henry is a tolerant soul.
The snow is due to start late tonight. Tomorrow morning, no doubt, Bryn will be refreshing the "Closeline" on the local news site, praying to see "HBC HIGH SCHOOL-CLOSED". Hopefully I will remember the detailed instructions BJ gave me, and will have the driveway cleared by the time he comes home from the night shift. Astrid and Sam will insist on watching Frozen more times than my brain can tolerate, but I bet I can distract them with the start of our holiday baking. They will conduct an experiment to see how many sprinkles a toddler and preschooler can eat before pushing themselves into a diabetic coma. It will be a quiet day. Nowhere to go. Nothing urgent to be done. A view that resembles the inside of a snowglobe on a curio shelf. But for now, we are just...waiting.
