New Year

Just like that. After several small hikes, I was exhausted, physically beat, so I ate an early dinner (beans and an egg on toast, twice), read for a while, finished a piece of text, and took a nap. Awoke after midnight, turned on the radio, turned it off, went outside to pee. Cold and brittle. The power had been off, so I had to turn on the computer to see what time it was. After one in the morning, which makes it the new year. I keep up with this stuff. Should be fine to take the Jeep down the driveway later. I might have another nap, storing energy units for a day of hauling frozen oak rounds. Establish a path, establish a rhythm, it's a no-mind mindful state, one foot in front of the other. If you establish a path, like this, through a piece of woodlot, after a few trips, you know where every foot falls, you have a map in your head. You keep track of certain things, certain obstacles, and you avoid them as well as you can. And you always note where it would be the softest place to fall. Oddly, that would be, if you were falling, into a bed of green briar. It's so strong, you'll never hit the ground. Sure, you'll be pricked in a few places, there might be a little blood, but you won't break a hip. Point is, that your mind can drift, you can remember your failures, and build on that. I'm not being clear, but I wish you could see me now. It might explain something. I'm in my bathrobe over my Carhartt bib-overalls over long-underwear, with Linda's hat pulled down over my ears. I have on extra socks. What I'm trying to say, is that I'll take my chances. I've always cooked black-eyed peas and cornbread on News Year's day. This year I had tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich. I wonder if that means something. Probably not. Burrowed several feet deep in a pile of leaves, I don't care that much what's going on in the outside world. Best laid plans. B came over and we scoped out a path, but his chainsaw, that was working yesterday, refused to operate; he cursed, went home to work on it. He thought he'd probably have to take it in to the shop, so we won't cut wood for a few days. I was already suited-up, so I spent the day in the woodshed, cutting a few things with the electric chainsaw and splitting gnarly pieces I had set aside. Fill all the stations of the cross, and have enough wood in the house, by the end of the day, to last for a week or more. Muscle sore, but it actually feels pretty good, looking at the pile of night-time logs stacked around the stove. One Osage Orange round yielded seven night-time chunks. It took me 30 minutes to split and cut, but it was time well spent, and I have four more of them in the shed. Splitting Osage Orange is a Zen exercise, you have to find where the wood wants to split. On my knees, on my ethafoam pad, I find a small heart check, and drive my hatchet into it, opening it enough that I can drive a wedge. I do this work inside an old tire (a trick I learned from Kim) so that the damned things don't keep falling over. Totally involved in the moment.