Oh, gorry – a snowy day in mid-January gets everyone antsy. That’s why we call each other on the phone, even if we don’t have much to say.
Today, I had to warm up supper twice, on account of snowed-in buddies calling to pass the time of day…or night, as was the case.
But I figure that a conversation with a dear friend far outweighs the relative value of a tepid plate of food. So we talked. And in some cases, we talked and talked and talked.
One of our conversations revolved around the different qualities of various types of firewood.
“I pack my woodshed so that early on, I’m burning junk wood. Then in the middle, I stuff the best maple and beech. Toward the end, which comes toward spring, I place the medium stuff.” That’s what I told one caller.
He, on the other hand, has a problem. With only one cord remaining and two good months of winter left, he feels insecure.
“What about Groundhog Day,” I queried. “Might not that one cord be just enough?” My thought was that by early February, things might moderate, at least enough to stretch his one cord of wood to where he won’t need to burn wood again until next fall.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said.
“I believe I must order another cord of ash. That way I can burn it, even though it will be green, by mixing my good, dry wood with it.”
He is probably right, too. I don’t think a cord will last him until spring. Only time will tell, though.
And so it went and so it goes. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live someplace where we didn’t need to plan our food and fuel ahead. And I wonder what it would be like not to get snowed in once in awhile and not to be able to have long, wandering conversations with good friends.
Such is the rural life. And although it may sound as if I’m complaining, that just isn’t so. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.