I followed Willow out to the side of the house. There was a huge pile of logs that look to have been placed out to season. How do I know it was meant to be season and not just piled up for firewood? The logs have been neatly piled up. 2 logs on one side in parallel then 2 more on top forming a square. Repeat this until ten high and you’re done. Unlike modern earth, there are no ovens to dry the wood quickly. Instead, wood is stacked with lots of breathing room to let air move in between the logs while exposed to as much sunlight as possible. This ensures that the wood dries well and will have less cracks. I suspect that the logs are intended to expand or repair parts of the house.

Willow walked pass all of the towers of logs and we came upon a wooden structure. I hesitate to call it a shed. It’s basically a four logs holding up a roof. The only wall is on the back side and it looks like the intent is to house firewood. It was completely empty of split logs. Next to the shed were several large piles of mismatch logs and branches. These must be all of the extras from the neatly stacked towers we had just walked pass. Willow gestured with her pitchfork at a wooden stump with a rusty axe embedded on its side. “Split these logs to the thickness of a wrist, fill the kindle box also. I will call you when dinner is ready.” She then walked away. I watched her bubble butt sway until she walked around one of the towers and was lost to sight. I picked up the nearest log. It was a misshapen monstrosity of a thing. I placed it on top of the stump and wrenched the axe off its perch and examined it. Weight? About five pounds. Condition? The shaft was warn and had not been well taken care of recently. Likely it has been left out for several storms. The axe head was rust covered. From the looks of it, the rust hasn’t done too much damage but the blade was no good as it was. There was no whetstone in sight and so I gave up and readied myself for the labor ahead.

I’ve chopped wood before and I knew to keep a wide stance so that I wouldn’t accidently hit myself. Left hand holding the base and my right 3/4ths of the way up, I swung down on my now leaning log and slid my right hand down the shaft to rest an inch from my left as the axe head made contact. A hard thud and sharp pain traveled from my palms up my arms to my shoulders. “Fuck” I cried out. The log didn’t even split. It didn’t take a super sharp axe to split logs, most people fail their first few tries because they either tried to use too much strength and lost control or hesitated in the last instance. I know from experience to use the weight of the axe and not too much of my own strength so I don’t ware myself out. Now I had to suffer hammering the log over and over until it eventually split. It took me 8 blows to finally split the log. I brought the culprit of my now blistering palms and aching elbows up to glare at it.

The blade had chipped in several places and a good amount of the rust had been rubbed clean revealing the pockmarked iron underneath. I now knew I was in for some pain. Wishing the blade was restored and sharp, the metal rippled like water and now looked shiny and new. I stared at the axe head dumbstruck until my knees gave out and once again was embraced by the darkness. I woke to several pokes to my cheeks. When I opened my eyes, Charlee was squatted down next to me and poking my cheek with her index finger. “Big sis says for you to come eat.” She then stood up and darted off. I groaned as I sat up and noticed the axe still being held in my right hand.my blistered hands were now healed and the axe head still looked shiny and new. I decided to take it with me and ask Willow if she knew what the hell just happened.