Wood Work

Outside at 8, lovely morning, but clouds moving in and rain tonight. I split enough stove wood for three ricks, one of them of larger nighttime logs. Wheelbarrow them to the back door, then carry them in and dump them on the kitchen floor. I make one trip, with the barrow, to the outside pile of rounds furthest away. Put up my tools, then come inside and stack the three ricks. 2 x 2, twenty splits in a rick. Filled the kindling bucket and split starter sticks. Feels great but I'm a fucking mess, tattered clothes, unshaven, dirty hair, so I heated water. Washed the few dishes, then a wonderful sponge bath, hair wash, and shave. Left-overs for one more night, then I need to either make a pot of soup or a casserole. Meat balls and egg noodles is a possibility. Also, I'm hankering for some fish cakes. I'm more than a little sore, so I self-medicated, thank god I have some left-overs. I have a few minor dings but nothing that required stitches. The house smells great, fresh split chestnut oak giving up it's surface moisture, I'm building a hash with the last of the left-overs, and it smells pretty good too. Another common interest I share with B is making hash, using up everything. I make a duck breast hash, with parsnips, that is fantastic; serve this on a slab of country bread, with a fried egg on top. Now we're talking. Because I have almost everything I need, I decide to cook a stew. A stew, I figure, with cornbread, would cover all the bases. The rain starts just after dark. A Bach cantata. Too tired to think. Dozed off for a couple of hours, listening to the patter song. Woke up to pee, got a wee dram, rolled a smoke, made a cup of tea from willow twigs. I'd overheated the house, burning junk wood from the woodshed; so I stood in the back doorway, in a tee-shirt, until the cool night air had settled me. Temps are supposed to drop thirty degrees tomorrow. I need a few things from town, not actually so much need as simply want, and I need to get down to the bottom of the hill to collect my mail. The rule is that if you get to the bottom of the hill, you might as well go to town. I have things to do there, the library, the liquor store, butter and bread, AND it's the authentic world. What did Emily say. "I only plant perennials." Don't get me started.