Firewood, a primal commodity

These days we still love a fire blazing in the house, especially on the coldest days. It is those sticks of firewood that we have felled, sawed, split and hauled that stand between us an the frigid cold that surrounds the house. Oh sure, we still have an electric furnace but we all know what could happen if that were our only source of heat out here at the end of the electrical power line.

I was about 10 years old when my father died suddenly and my mother moved her four boys to the Ozark hills. It was during our first winter that we discovered the supreme importance of those sticks of firewood that could keep some degree of comfort in our small cabin. In the first years we had only a fireplace. We would "bank the fire" at night (cover the coals with ashes) and then the first hardy soul in the morning would uncover the coals and lay more dry wood on top. If you were lucky, the temperature inside would become tolerable in an hour or two.

The most pressing problem was that we boys had no knowledge of wood cutting and splitting and had no older male in the family to instruct us. Somehow we made it through those first winters with only a crosscut saw. Wood was brought into the house in quite meager amounts, and as I recall we almost never had enough wood to create a stack outside the door of the cabin.

We boys struggled with the saw. We pushed and pulled and cursed and spent way too much time gaining just a few sticks of wood. We learned later from a helpful neighbor that the saw had lost it's "set", causing it to bind in the wood on every stroke. Later we purchased a David Bradley chainsaw from Sears and Roebuck. Of course that began a whole new learning curve for we boys, as we then needed knowledge of small engines, the art of sharpening the chain, safety, etc.

There is another, somewhat guilty memory. It is the recollection of how little wood my mother would burn during the day when her sons were away in a warm schoolhouse. She was just plain stingy with firewood, causing the inside temperature to be quite cold. I suspect she spent much of the day in a chair directly in front of the fireplace. When we returned home she would often cajole and beg us to fill the wood box on the back porch.

Well, we have just returned from outside where we dug those precious sticks of firewood out of the snow and brought them to the house. Hands, feet, and faces were painfully cold by the time we finished. It is 7 degrees outside and the wind is swirling. Inside, the fire blazes in the stove, bringing back memories of winters gone by and emphasizing once more the importance, each year, of building large stacks of firewood against the coming winter.

Winter slothfulness

Snow falling on cedars. Birds scampering across our outside deck, vying for seeds we scattered. For some reason, two victims this morning, birds trying to enter our sun room and smashing into the glass window. One dead, one apparently survived. There is no grief among the survivors, only continuing competition for free food.
Our cedar Christmas tree is stripped of it's lights and decorations and now sits outside where birds use it's limbs for brief respites. When cardinals come, drab cedars turn back into gaudy Christmas trees. Red, white and green are today's colors. White swirls across the deck. Finches, juncos in numbers; woodpeckers at the beef fat hanging.
Inside, warm, and reflective, I am two weeks past knee surgery. Two weeks of forced reticence and, yes, pain. But I have given myself over to modern chemistry and little white pills. They have helped stay the gremlin while I've watched Kathy carry in firewood, stoke the fire, feed the birds, and absorb other tasks that are normally mine. But, I progress, if slowly.
Rock Eddy Bluff Farm is closed and will be for several weeks. I have fallen backward into sloth and indolence, while outside the birds struggle and flit in the cold whiteness. Nearby, green cedars frame a snow covered landscape running onward to a grey horizon.
There is a certain zen today, one of simple awareness.

The Hired Man goes to the big city

It was kinda like "Goober Goes to Chicago." Every once in a while we have to load up and head into a metropolis just to see how the other 90% lives. Well, we just got home from one such foray. (I drug along the Missus, the daughter and son-in-law, and two grand kids -- 1 and 3 years of age.)


Transportation was provided by Amtrak and then Megabus on the return (look it up - http://www.megabus.com/ ) Our hotel was of a class that was clearly above our station in life, but it had excellent views of the Chicago River and the skyline of Chi town.


Well, we just had an excellent time and nearly froze our collective hineys off. Boy Howdy, was it cold. (When was the last time you heard Boy Howdy'?) We had two and a half days in town, but ran out of time quickly. Here is what we saw:

• Millennium Park
• Macy's Christmas windows and Santa
• The Science and Industry Museum (5 stars)
• The Shedd Aquarium
• The German Christmas Market
• "Precious" at the Movie Theatre
• Quite a lot of town thru the taxi window.

Here is what we learned:

• Those city fellers sure know how to charge a lot. (Or, as they say in the country, "They's real proud of their stuff.")
• No matter where you are you can get a taxi quick.
• There is a real good reason that they call it "The Windy City."
• Big Cities are really kinda neat -- enough to spend up to two and a half days.
• There sure are lots of things to see and we'd like to go back again once we save up some cash.
• It is so much fun to have a Christmas break with family.
• Little grand kids are wonderful but very tiring.

The trip got us in the Christmas mood, so we are sending along a heartfelt "Happy Christmas" to everyone.

From down on the Bluff, The Hired Man

A cartoonist comes to Line Camp Cabin

Some folks who come to Rock Eddy Bluff do us a special honor when they leave something of themselves here. That was true a few days ago when Robert Quick and Hillary settled into Line Camp Cabin. Robert, it turns out, is an artist and cartoonist who left some of his talent in our little "Guest to Guest" book in the cabin.

Of course, we have to share the cartoons he left with us. It seems Bob was quite taken with Line Camp and our place on the river. "You have what I dream about. Can you adopt me?"

Thanks Bob and Hillary.

What the heck is that next to the door?

I will check to see if you remember this next summer when you need it!

I am gonna tell it to you now since, truth is, I probably won't remember to tell you next summer when the weather is warm. And, the other reason is that our guests have asked us about this so many times that we were thinking about writing a little blurb in the welcome folder that they see when they arrive. Doing that would keep us from explaining it over and over.

We discovered this on a jaunt somewhere,and, like many things, once you have seen it, then you notice it everywhere after that. A clear water-filled plastic bag was hanging up over the door. Yep, just water in perhaps a quart-size clear plastic bag that was tied with a string or wire and hung near the outside doorway. So we asked about it. The reply went something like this, "Well, it keeps flies from going inside the house. Don't ask me how it works; I don't know. I am tired of telling people about it."

So we tried it ourselves at our house, at the cottage and the cabins. We got the same response from many people; "what the heck it that?" Others told us, "We have known about that since we were kids." One of our friends who lives in Ireland said that her parents had always filled bags with water to keep out flies.

What do we think after trying it for a summer? We think it works. We had very few flies inside this year. How does it work then? We don't know, but the most consistent explanation offered when we asked was something about the light refraction in the clear plastic bag somehow confuses the multi-faceted eye of the flies. After that, your guess is as good as ours.

We even checked it our on Snopes.com. They don't say it is true or false. They say "Undetermined."

So, try it for yourselves next summer (or even now, as there are some flies still hankering to be indoors). And remember to tell us how it works. You have nothing to lose but your flies. The only downside is having to repeatedly answer the question, "What the heck is that thing?"

Making Molasses (Them shore is good)

I haven't seen Declan have more fun than he did on Saturday when he "helped" make molasses. His sister, Lily Grace, sat on the wagon and helped by sucking the sweetness from a short piece of cane. It was one of those rare brisk and sunny fall days that have become even rarer this autumn. Our three-year-old grandson was having the time of his life feeding cane into the mule-powered press.

The molasses making has become an annual October ritual at the farm of one of our neighbors. They both are getting well on in years, but with the help of their offspring, each year they plant a patch of cane in the spring. Then, on one weekend in the fall the hard work begins. They cut the cane with a knife, strip the leaves from the canes, and load it onto a wagon to be taken to the press and kiln.

Neighbors arrive mid-morning on Saturday with covered dishes for the noon meal. The mule is hitched to a long pole that powers the press as the mule circles. A hot fire is built under the long cooking pan that will reduce the thin cane juice to a thick golden molasses. There is dinner on the grounds, lots of visiting between neighbors, and the aromatic steam from the cooker scenting the fall air. The older kids sometimes get to ride the mule.

Sadly, last Saturday may have been the last time we will make molasses in our neighborhood. The hosts are getting older and even with lots of help, the responsiblity of the event tires them considerably. It will be a loss for all of us. Likely, this old-fashioned process will only seen only as an attraction at country fairs and festivals.

From the Hills, The Hired Man, Missus, and young folk

In An Autumn Rain

This happens every fall, the rains come amid the time of ripest color in the hills and pummels the leaves from the trees. Most years the autumn rain signals the end of the riot of pigment that spreads across the ridges. A breeze comes and pushes the sodden leaves from their branches. This fall I have hopes that the rains have come just a smidgen too early.

I am sitting here on our sun porch above the valley as evening light weakens in a drizzling rain that has lasted all day. Oh, the rain has taken its share of the golden leaves. This morning they swirled and eddied around the house as we, inside, begrudged each one making its way earfthward. But, this evening we still have color in the timber, leaves hanging on waiting for some more October sunshine and painted blue sky. Yes, the woods are less dense now; you can see further into the trees. But, without a strong wind tonight we will have more golden autumn days ahead.

Already we have marked off a few of our alloted golden fall days. Together with our daughter and grandchildren we have loaded a couple of ATVs with a picnic and headed into the countryside. We careened up dry creek beds, meandered down country roads known to only a few, and visited old house places back in the timber that are no longer connected to roads. It was truly wonderful, and left us wanting more.

But even rainy fall days have their compensations. With guests enscounsed in their cabins, I suspect they are on the porches listening to the patter of the rain on tin roofs. And, often this time of year sleep comes early, peaceful and long.

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig

We are home a week now and have almost caught up with our work getting ready for guests. (the place is full this weekend). After being gone for such a long time in a different environment it takes a little while get get back into the old system.

Kathy's favorite holiday (except it is not a holiday) is Halloween. She can't control herself. Right now there are skeletons hanging from the trees near the house. Bats also. She even wears a little hat that says, "Happy Holloween." I point out to her that folks are not supposed to be happy on Holloween. They are supposed to be scared s--tless.

The pumkins are set out, except these that we grew out in the pasture (see photo). I looks like the deer got into these excellent specimens and ruined them. K is heartbroken.

I sense a wonderful fall coming. Right now, twinges of color are seen on the hillsides. Cattle are in the pastures across the river. The walnuts have already lost their leaves, leaving the green balls hung among the limbs like ornaments. This is the time of year for hikes and long walks in the woods.

We think that we will concentrate on enjoying every single moment of lovely fall weather. Each year this magical part of the year seems too soon gone. We look back and shake our heads, wondering how we missed so much of it.

That's why I must get away from this computer. It's a beatiful, crisp day.

From the hills, Tom & Kathy http://www.rockeddy.com/

To paraphrase past wisdom, "You can measure how rich a person is by how little he needs" — i.e. the richest person isn't the person who has everything; it's the person who needs nothing.