0125

Leap century day - I'll have to reset my watch's date.

Very warm - close to 60°, sunny, breezy - so that I strip to my waist for awhile as I cut the trees felled yesterday, and become sluggish and sleepy. I open up the beehive, to see how they're doing - and they're not doing. No life whatsoever, just thousands of bees frozen in various positions, like so many wind-up toys that stopped wherever they were when their motors wound down. Did they starve? Too cold for too long? Did I do something wrong? Or fail to do something needed? Depressing.

No fire tonight. I cut up & cook 3 small pumpkins that are starting to spoil, leaving only 3 more left to process. Read my mail, including a note from Lenore telling me that the wood-fired boiler is still for sale.

0124

As I hang the first load, I think I must have chosen the worst possible day to do laundry: chilly, cloudy, damp, calm, and even snowing slightly. But I just want clean sheets, with or without cooperative weather.

Now I'm hanging the last load, and a breeze has come up, it's getting warmer, the sun is about to appear... looks like I've lucked out, after all.

After lunch, I go back to the south woods to fell a few more trees for firewood. I come across a small ash that appears to be recently dead, still standing up, the wood still pretty sound. Or so it seems. A few blows with the ax, I hear a crack!, and look up reactively toward the sound, just in time to catch a falling branch squarely on my forehead. Ow! It bleeds pretty good, but otherwise I'm fine. Here's another lesson for this rookie to learn: be careful about dead tree branches. I just hope I don't bleed tonight on my clean bed linens.

Back at the house, I get the dried laundry in, and get the mail. A letter from my friend Jack and another from my niece. Some points are raised regarding consumerism, and some other moral and political issues; I would like to respond, after having digested and thought about it.

0123

Snowing steadily when I rise - big, light, fluffy flakes - and looks like an all-day snowfall, so I busy myself with miscellany indoors...

I patch a couple holes in the dining room walls (my main warm room, where the stove resides), restock the household pails of water, cut some dead wood into kindling, then sit down and write a letter to Mom. Should try to visit her sometime. The thing is, my newfound freedom comes with a trade-off. Don't have to drive anywhere in inclement weather such as this, don't have to punch a time clock, don't have most of the headaches and pressure that most working folks do, because I don't have to make money. But the trade-off is this: I'm more or less tied to this homestead, ain't I? I can't just take time off, take trips like other folks do. Day trips to town is about all I can manage. Besides the expense and the use of fossil fuel, if I were to drive down to Mankato for a few days in winter, my house would freeze. Can't leave in the summer, either, or the garden suffers. It's a conundrum.

Upstairs, I finally finish framing that closet for the southeast room. Then, deliberately take time for some quiet meditation. The aim is sanity: do a few things, slowly, no panic or mania, just do what I can do and remain even-tempered, by God's grace.

This evening, I get creative and use the wood stove to cook my supper (beans in broth, tea), and then to melt some leftover chunks of paraffin along with my own beeswax into 3 small candles.

The snow is still falling, and is getting quite deep. I'll have a fair chunk of shovelling to do.

0122

Unseasonably mild weather - low 30's, cloudy, calm. So I continue as I did yesterday & Monday taking some trees from the south woods and swamp. I've been felling and limbing the trees with the ax, and dragging the pieces back to the yard, keeping in mind the 'interest only' rule (or: 'never touch the principle' principle) learned from a forest management guru recently...

The analogy is of managing a fair amount of wealth in such a way that you never run out. You invest the capital, and only draw on the dividends or interest. The principle is never touched, so you never run out. Just so with a forest or other natural wealth. Take the surplus only, and never strip the principle, and you need never run out.

My woods are fairly young - 50 or 60 years since being logged clear, so most of the trees are 4" to 7" trunk diameter, and are still a good distance from climax growth, growing much too thickly in many places. So I scan the canopy above looking for trees that are too crowded. I take a tree here, a couple trees there. Sometimes I see a tree that's still standing, but is already dead - probably crowded out. If the wood still looks OK for burning, I take that tree. Or a tree that was broken in a recent windstorm. Or one that is leaning so badly, it will probably go down soon. The general idea is to take the surplus trees, but leave the woods intact.

By now there's a nice heap of small logs accumulated in the yard, so I plug the 100' cord in, and use the electric chainsaw to cut firewood lengths. This is my compromise, my arbitrary line - I'll hew the trees with hand tools, but the electric chainsaw seems clean and efficient, so I allow it. Then I start stacking in a new place just north of the garage & chicken shed.

Derek & Justin come up as I'm doing that, and we go down after the early dusk and play a little football within range of their yard light.

0121

My work habits and schedule need to become more disciplined. My recent mania to get lots done every day often backfires, and ends up being more fatiguing than anything else. So, I make a point today of simply starting in on the day's work after breakfast, and keep a steady pace going.

Since today is windy & chilly with a little snow & rain mixed in, I continue taping and mudding sheetrock upstairs. I also do some preliminary measuring and cutting for framing a new closet between the southwest bedroom and the bathroom. Then quit at a reasonable hour to build a fire, cook & eat supper, bath, and relax before retiring. Slow & steady gets the job done, and usually just as quickly.

I knew that.