I’m in a mad scramble now to finish cutting up a giant silver birch tree behind my house and hauling the logs to the woodshed for next year’s fuel.
The reason for the rush: The snow is melting and after this weekend’s thaw and predicted rain I probably will have to suspend using my most efficient form of firewood transport, a sled.
The system is elegant and sometimes thrilling when the sled rockets out of control – more on this in a moment – but when working efficiently it’s one of the most satisfying experiences imaginable.
A couple weeks ago when almost two feet of powder piled up I fashioned a bobsled-like chute, complete with banked curves, over which the loaded sled glided effortlessly. All I had to do was roll the logs onto the sled, point it downhill, stand back and let Newton’s laws do their trick.
The sled snaked its way downhill on automatic pilot, making a few S-turns before crunching to a stop against a snow dam I constructed and depositing the logs only a few feet from the chopping block. Magic!
If only I could have figured out how to have the logs automatically split and stack themselves I would have almost nothing to do but cross-country ski all winter.
I’ve used this system with varying degrees of success for years, and while I enjoy having gravity do most of the work I also have had reinforced for me the old maxim about idle hands becoming the devil’s tool.
Early on, once freed from the burden of pulling the loaded sled I began looking for ways to combine work with amusement, and quickly realized I could be enjoying an exciting ride.
After stacking the logs I climbed on top of the pile, grabbed the pull rope and shoved off. In seconds I was blasting downhill at about 40 mph aboard a conveyance weighing several hundred pounds over which I had virtually no control.
The intelligent thing to have done, of course, was leap off, but after the sled jumped the chute it veered directly toward my house and I imagined it smashing through the sliding glass doors, or slamming into a wall with enough force to punch a Wile E. Coyote-like hole. I hoped by hanging on I could drag my heels and try to steer the sled or slow it down, but I might as well as been trying to stop a runaway locomotive.
Wham!
Somehow the sled missed the side of the house, but instead shot up the A-frame roof, which extends to the ground. I raced up one eave about 10 feet before the sled lost momentum and tumbled back down.
While lying in a heap in a snowdrift I performed a quick inventory of my extremities and discovered with relief that nothing was broken.
So now, of course, I’m less prone to leap with abandon onto the log-laden sled, though the other day for old times sake I did kneel on the back for just a few seconds.
Anyway, I’ll miss the snow and hope another blizzard or two quickly supplants this January thaw.
It’s not just the log sledding, of course. I also enjoy using my cross-country skis or snowshoes to follow animal tracks. I’m always amazed by this traffic even in the harshest conditions.
You don’t have to be active to enjoy the snowscape that has covered the region for the past month. This glittering blanket has covered all the mud, rotting leaves, broken branches and other debris littering the forest floor and on still days I have savored ultimate serenity while sitting on a stump, my face warmed by snow-reflected sunlight.
With winter only a third spent I expect to enjoy this experience again before long, and also to be back in the log-sledding business.