How Much Wood Would a Wood Chuck Chuck

… the moment you have to stop and think about the difference between wood and would… I don’t think I’ve ever bothered to write that out before…

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My Grandpa has a wood fireplace.

He ordered an entire semi-truck full of wood for said wood fireplace.

He is well into his 80’s. He used to tell people he was 9-squared, but he’s too old for that now. He’s also too old to stack an entire truckload of firewood, although most of the family knows he would if we’d let him. Mostly, if his kids would let him… his grandkids try not to let him, but he’s not one to take “no” too easily, especially from a grandkid.

Which would be why he has a chainsaw in his hands in this picture.

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Sorry this picture is blurry (as usual). This time I have an excuse. I took it while dodging flying logs as they soared through the window.

Over a series of days, some of the kids and grandkids got together to help cut and stack Grandpa’s wood. It brought back nostalgic memories of stacking wood as a kid.

We used to be the ones sitting just inside this window, on stacks and stacks of wood, so that we could hand it down to the ones stacking it below (find that same window on the first picture for perspective, and realize that the first picture is about 3 feet from the ground). I remember complaining loudly about all the WORK the kids had to do, but secretly enjoying being with my cousins. What I DON’T remember is any of the work… I also remember Grandpa’s old “CAT” that he’d occasionally let us ride after the wood was all done. Until Jake got stung by a bee one year (he’s allergic. He’s also the kid who helped us all learn not to stick your tongue on Grandpa’s metal screen door, but that’s another story).

The grownups always made the stacks we sat on. I climbed up there this time and wondered how on earth we didn’t kill ourselves. I’m sure our parents made it safe, I don’t remember being scared at all as a kid, but as a grownup, knowing full well how it was stacked… yeah, I didn’t last long up there.

That and the fact that as the only female helping stack that day, my brother told me I was too delicate to be there because he was afraid of tossing in the logs and hurting me. He had no qualms about tossing logs in on and hurting the other brother. I should feel loved.

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Instead, I stacked after the piles were thrown down. And when the pile got too tall, I brought armloads into the garage and stacked them myself.

We also had a little help from this young helper. He was pretty cute. There was one time I had a little log in my hands and I called him over and told him it was too heavy for me to carry and I needed him to help… Then about 5 minutes later, he brings ME one over and makes ME carry it. It was “too evy, Aunt-Keeaa, too evy!” Well played little man, well played.

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The rest of the time, he was “helping” Grandma pick chokecherries by distracting her every few seconds to push him on the swings.

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On the way home, we saw a red sun! I wish phones could capture the amazing grandeur of the sky, but they don’t seem to do it justice. I just thought it was fitting to see a fire-sky after stacking fire-wood.

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