A great axe day

A great axe day





Spring is still a day away, but it’s in the air. The afternoon sun is riding high in a blue sky clean of clouds, which is not too common in the rain forest this time of year. There is stiff cold breeze blowing off the Pacific. My little salmon stream is running hard and noisy from the recent rain. I can hear pebbles tumbling in the current. Orange ribbons — tied to overhanging twigs by the local tribe to mark steelhead redds — snap in the breeze.


Everything is perfect. I set my solar panels free, unbuckling the cables and ropes that hold them in place during the winter storms. The big array — the lowest one — tracks the sun automatically. Having gained its freedom, it immediately finds the sun and tracks it faithfully all afternoon. It’s like a hound with a snootful of bear scent. I turn the tall panels manually to keep them in the sun. I’ve welded periscope handles to the bottom of their pole. A three year old can turn them.


This is a great axe day. I have a pile of alder rounds ready for splitting. They are mostly small and split open as easily as eggs. The new wood is so white when first split that you have to squint if the sun angle is just right. My old dog is there to keep me company, although I don’t need much.


So I am able to spend a couple hours splitting wood with a small Walters axe on a 36-inch haft. I don’t work hard, just steady. The firewood pile just keeps growing. When I split enough to fill a wheel barrow, I cart the wood off to my shed. Then repeat.


It reminds me how good the rhythm of an axe feels in my hands, especially with the sun beaming overhead and a stream babbling chaos a few steps away. And nothing but trees for neighbors. I suppose the Chinese have spewed pollution into the air, but I cannot tell. China is a long way away. Each breath of air is sweet.


A new crop of nettles is just popping up. They’re my first vegetable of the year.


The day feels perfect. Perfect for a session with an axe. There are not many tools that give me this much satisfaction. Thought I’d share with the people who have taught me more about an axe than I could have imagined a few years ago.

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