Locally Plentiful

Peaches, or persimmons. Sugar converts easily to alcohol, the best way to convey corn or apples. Dinner with B, a nice little organic, grass-fed London Broil on the grill, stuffed tomatoes, potatoes. Then he was over this morning to cut one of my standing dead oaks. One tank of gas, twenty-five rounds tapering from 18 inches to 14 inches in 30 feet. An hour's work. I bust about half of them into halves and thirds, so I can haul them. B dropped the tree right on the driveway, not 100 feet from the house, and I'll be able to use the wheelbarrow to get the wood to the shed. I stop working after a couple of hours, not wanting to strain or sprain muscles that haven't been used for a year. I need to replace the grate in the cook-stove (ten bucks at the welding shop) and get the wood under shelter, but I've gone from being unprepared to being quite a happy camper in a single day. Straight grain oak which I can split down to stove size with a hatchet. I haven't felt so giddy about firewood in several years. One more tree (even closer to the house) and one more tank of gas should see me set for winter, even staying at home and burning more wood. I came inside and cleaned up just a little bit, I'm going to be doing the same thing tomorrow and I have no plans to see anyone, no reason to scrub very deeply; I usually wear overalls when I'm working wood, and peal off the outer layer when I come inside. Need fuel so I fry an egg, beans on toast; flop down on the sofa. I consider an aspirin, but get a wee dram instead, roll a smoke, walk out and admire the split wood. I'm a little stiff, but it feels good. Sore in the course of duty. It is brain science, actually, that splitting wood is good for what ails you. For six or eight weeks I have to cut back my reading to four hours a day, in exchange for heat and various other labors, not a bad price to pay. I like using my body and feeling the physical effort; when I get centered in that, all the other cares of the world slough away. That word, slough, is very interesting. I spent an hour in various dictionaries. Took a nap, Jesus, I was tired. My body is not what it used to be. Now I just nod toward whatever might be of interest, I used to pick it up and shake it, to see if it made a sound, now I just listen. Fucking goat-suckers, them goddamn Whip-O-Wills. And it doesn't require chicken entrails to predict the future.