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You cut the tree — now how many times will you lift it?
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I heat with wood, mostly. There is a propane furnace to keep the house at 55° F, and my wife and I make judicious use of electric heaters, like in the bathroom when showering, but when we want to raise the overall temperature from "not-freezing" to "cozy," we burn wood.
And there is lots of wood around: the natural self-coppicing of Gambel oak, elderly junipers, and thanks to the mountain pine beetle and its associated fungus, occasional dead ponderosa pine trees.
Tell people you heat with wood, and they will present you with their Great Wisdom(TM): Firewood warms you twice. My normal response is this mental picture (right), not for wood-cutting but for skull-slicing
Who gets the blame? Henry Thoreau drops this particular Great Wisdom (TM) in Walden (1854): "As my driver prophesied when I was plowing, [these stumps] warmed me twice—once while I was splitting them, and again when they were on the fire, so that no fuel could give out more heat."
So he admits he was just recycling some existing New Englander Great Wisdom (TM).
Yet there are earlier printed references going back as far as 1808. I will come to one in a minute.
But that's not half of it. Sometimes wood-cutting reminds of coal-mining, back when it was done with picks and shovels, only without working bent over in the half-darknesss for a ten-hour shift.
I cut a medium-sized dead pine yesterday, limbed and bucked it, and moved the rounds down to a little dirt road that runs up behind the house.
There was no way to bring my utility trailer near the tree, and if I had come as close as possible, I would still have been carrying all the rounds uphill to the trailer.
So I opted to roll them downhill, sort of a two-handed bowling. They roll a few yards, then fetch up against a pine truck or a cluster of oak brush. I pick them up and "bowl" them again. Eventually they go where they are supposed to — except for the occasional escapee that has to be tracked down.
By that point I have lifted the weight of the entire tree at least four times. That is when I start thinking about the old-time miner shoveling tons of coal.
Add it up what is left to do:
- Stack the rounds (that's a lift)
- Split them (that's more handling, another lift or two). It would be the same even with a power splitter.
- Load the splits into a trailer or for smaller runs, a wheelbarrow (it's a lift either way)
- Dump them at the house, then carry them up to the porch to the woodbox (a lift)
- Carry them as needed inside to the stove (a lift)
So now I have picked up that tree nine times. Warms you twice?
One source for the proverb seems to be the mountainous French department of Jura. According to an 1819 text,
The peasant who sets out for that purpose [to collect fuel] of a
winter's morning from his house in the valley, begins by ascending some
neighboring mountain, and having there made up the pieces he has cut
into the form of a rude sledge, and secured them together properly on
the brink of the declivity, he takes his station on the load, so that he
can touch the ground at pleasure with his feet, and committing himself
to a narrow, winding, slippery path, and frequently of beaten snow, and
generally bordered from place to place by precipices, he gets back to
his family with almost aerial velocity. Others again, who live on the
top of some naked hill, and who cannot find a declivity suitably gentle
to admit of their using a sledge on the mountain where wood is to be
obtained, are obliged to throw it down the precipice, at the bottom of
which they afterwards collect and carry it home on their shoulders. The
proverb of the country is, that wood warms a man twice.
A firewood sled. I think I tried that once with with an Army-surplus pulk. But "throwing it down the precipice"—been there, done that. Five stars, will do again.