For a little while, with red cheeks and a red coat, I stood out by the woodpile and thought, “What is this hump in front?” Well, ACK and double ACK, it was a small pile of logs that had not been racked, but forgotten and then snowed over.
So, for a little while, I used hands encumbered by monster gloves and whacked at one piece of buried wood with another already uncovered piece, until I had enough pieces loose and free to carry in. It was not a bad task; the temperature was in the twenties and I was sheltered from what wind there was. I didn’t pile myself with logs; I took one at a time . . . because they are new wood and also have the weight of ice on them.
Walking back and forth. I felt akin to generations before me. And now I sit with my laptop and feel akin to generations after . . . maybe I have the best of both worlds.