The zen of splitting firewood

I have thus far managed to avoid the use of a mechanically assisted wood splitter. By mechanically assisted I mean those rigs that you attach to the 3-point hitch on the tractor, those rigs that come with their own power source, like a 12 horse Briggs & Stratton, and those little electric jobs that you plug into the wall. Instead, I have been splitting the wood with a twelve pound maul.

I've used all that other stuff, and yes, if  "efficiency" is your God, I suppose one of those mechanical alternatives would be the way to go. But no. I'm staying old school.

At Falling Downs the wood-shed is also the dog-shed. It's the way-station between the trailer or the truck parked out back, and the basement where I keep this winter's warmth. It's also where the dogs shit. So before I get all gung-ho on an afternoon of wood-splitting, I have to clean up the dog shit.

Depending on how long it's been since I had an afternoon of wood work, the dog shit may or may not look like dog shit. Dog shit tends to mold up pretty quick. A bit of damp kindling may take a little longer, but at some point their trajectories of putrification cross, so sometimes you don't know if you're picking up dog shit or a piece of kindling. Of course once you pick it up, you know right away.

Anyway, you don't split kindling, so leaving aside the dog shit that looks like firewood, lets get back to the main theme. There's an asthetic rythym to splitting wood. It's poetry with a really big axe. I first figured this out when I was house-sitting for helpful Herb. May not have mentioned it, but aside from house-sitting and shooting squirrels I was expected to split a winter's worth of firewood. That's where I first encountered the zen of wood-splitting.

Like I said, there's a rythym to it. You have to learn not to fight the axe. The axe becomes part of you. You become the axe. You pick it up and let it swing back and forth. At the tail end of a swing, whether a back or a forth, you draw the handle skyward. You wait a moment until it reaches its maximum skyward trajectory.

Then you drive the fucker to the center of the earth.

That's really the only point at which you're applying serious muscle. You need to visualize the center of the earth. At this point all you're doing is aiming. Try not to hit the heart of the piece you're aiming at. A couple inches either side of the heart will split much easier. On a good day a good swing will go through the target on the first go.

So I've been doing a lot of that. Herb never had a twelve pounder. That makes the initial to and fro motion that much more important. Twelve pounds ain't a lot of weight, but you put it on the end of a four foot stick and it gets pretty heavy pretty fast. So you have to work with it, not against it. On a good swing, or series of swings, you get that satisfying crack of wood flying in all directions. You lean forward, put another piece on the chopping stump, go with the flow of the twelve pound maul on the end of that four foot stick, and you get the satisfying crack of wood flying in all directions. You lean forward, put another piece on the chopping stump, go with the flow of the twelve pound maul and there you go again. And again. And again. And it's zen. The zen of wood-splitting. You are the wood. You are the maul. You are gonna be warm in February.

Been at it for a month and some. Every once in awhile you get the maul stuck. Totally fucks up the rythym. Zen breakdown. I give those pieces a second chance. If they don't play along on the second chance I put them aside. Got the woodshed half full now of stuff I had to put to the side. That's two or three months worth of warmth.

Gonna see if they still have the 22-ton wood-splitter on sale at TSC next week.