THIS IS A DRAFT
Wood pile, April 28th, 2011
Was Dewey an “environmentalist?” So far as I know that term was not used during Dewey’s time as it is now, so our immediate answer would have to be no, Dewey was just what he was. I believe that even at the end of Dewey’s life in the early 1950s the environmental movement was not present, certainly not something in the mainstream. Was Rachel Carlson’s book Silent Spring the start of popular environmental awareness in the 1960s? It may have been possible that in scientific circles environmental issues were discussed and debated, however “science is an elite language” (I can’t find the quote I’m looking for just yet) and environmental science was probably not one Dewey was deeply involved in.
Would Dewey have been an environmentalist if he were alive today? That doesn’t really matter, does it? But to the extent that his ideas are artistic, that is, “as a work of art, (they) directly liberate subsequent action and makes it more fruitful in a creation of more meanings and more perception” (E&N p.278) we can draw from Dewey’s vast discussions of the environment, and the absolute necessity the organism has of it.
Today, I believe the single most pressing environmental issue is climate change, which I believe is the consequence of greenhouse gases, which have been put into the atmosphere to a large extent by burning fossil fuels. There are other pressing environmental issues, but so far as it is my belief, and I have not been persuaded through argument otherwise (baring in mind that I am a music teacher, not a scientist,) climate change is the issue which comes to mind foremost when I consider how the world will be when my children are old.
This week I have been preparing firewood to burn in my house next winter. We also have an oil furnace, and I believe that burning wood is “cleaner,” therefore I believe it is a good when chosen against burning oil. This year we are planning to replace our furnace to a more efficient model, perhaps even switching fuel sources, and we are also planning on replacing our woodstove, to a more efficient model. There is also a financial motive to burning firewood; for $160 I purchased my medium sized Hasqvarna chainsaw, and for small investments in gasoline, oil, a chain file and the occasional replacement chain, I can cut firewood from the land around my house. I had cut stove length pieces of firewood with the chainsaw previously and I estimated that I had about one cord of wood, which is 128 cubic feet, or a stack 4 feet by 4 feet by 8 feet. I have a 16 inch bar on my saw, which I had used to roughly measure for stove length. I would need three stacks of wood, 4 feet high and 8 feet long, which together would be 4 feet wide. This wood only needed to be split in order to dry out over the summer to be useful next winter. I would be better if it could season for an additional year, but I don’t believe it is completely necessary.
So this week I began splitting wood, on the far side of my field, which has rather nice views and is fairly secluded from other people, despite being out in the open. The wood pile is along the eastern border of our property, along an old stone wall, there is a smaller field beyond it and then a steep hill dropping roughly 300 feet. The neighbors who own the smaller field have been away in Florida for the winter and will not return for another month or so. Early in the week the skies were overcast, with the occasional rain and thunder storm rolling through. Thursday a high pressure system had cleared away the humidity and clear blue skies were accompanied by a slight breeze and a high temperature somewhere in the low 60s.
After waking up Thursday I ate breakfast with Ashley on the couch while watching the royal wedding (it’s not every day that the prince of England gets married.) It was nice time with Ashley, allowing us to break out of the normal work morning routine (she had to work) and discuss the things we noticed and thought about from this novel situation. It is the type of event which, although not earth shattering, offers us opportunities to understand each other just a little bit better. The digital reception starting breaking up during the Men’s choir performance of a John Rutter piece (a name I recognized and mentioned to Ashley) so she left for work; I decided to spend the morning out at the wood pile. I assumed that I would be able to finish splitting the stove length pieces (I had done a little less than half of a cord, what I thought was about half of the pile, but had not cut many more logs into stove lengths yet.) I brewed a pot of coffee while cleaning the breakfast dishes and then brought a mug with me (and a water bottle) across the not too wet field with Nada (the dog.) I heard a male Chickadee and two birds which I cannot name, calling back and forth. Or it sounded as though they were singing back and forth as their songs were the same except for the final note, which was slightly lower from the bird to my right. So it sounded like one would call and the other would answer. Occasionally they called at the same time, sounding in unison until that last pitch. I noticed that the grass in the field was definitely starting to grow, the temperature had been rather cool until the previous day, when a thunder storm came through in the afternoon which must have been a warm front.
I got to the pile around 7:15, the sun was hitting parts of the pile although the trees at the edge of the field cast long shadows over the pile and westward into the field. The wood which I had split earlier in the week seemed almost to shine brightly, with different intensities, hues, tones, and colors varying with wood type and the texture with which the wood had split. There was one full stack at what I estimated to be 4 feet high and 8 feet long, although I had not taken a tape or stick to the stack to be sure; I felt as though I wanted to test my judgment and my past experience. There was a little less than half of a second stack. At the ends of each pile I had stacked wood, three pieces at a time, alternating in direction in order to make something of a tower to hold up each end. With the full stack (which I had done first,) the bottom course of this end tower was stacked parallel to the pile itself. When starting the second pile I placed the pieces in this first course of the tower perpendicularly to the rest of the pile, thinking that it would offer more resistance to settling wood and that the integrity of the stack would be stronger. Time will tell.
Towers at the end of each stack, the one of the right with the first course parallel to the stack
Soon, after quickly surveying the scene, I split a few pieces, as I tend to feel like starting things right away. The birds stopped their calls momentarily at the loud clap of the splitting mall hitting the wood, but within seconds were calling again. After just a few pieces I stopped in order to more fully appreciate this moment.
I had been taking a few pictures already, so I took a few more, and I got two particularly good pictures of Nada, sitting on the east side of the pile, with a backdrop of the sunlight on the wood pile and beyond that our field and house, with the blue sky.
The other picture was of her playing in the splitting zone, and I felt as though I were out here playing as well, just something of a different game. We had burned approximately two cords of wood this past winter, and had roughly one half cord left in the shed. I estimate it will take two cords to fill the shed, and it seems likely with us being home more through the winter that we’ll burn more than this past winter (we will both be home through November with a newborn baby, Ashley will not be working full time afterwards, and her mother will be babysitting, possibly at our house. During all of these times we will likely be burning the wood stove, times when we were not this past year.) So I will need to split two cords of wood this spring in order that they will dry out enough to burn in order to fill the shed. I would like to have a half cord split and dried additionally, so that we would have a total of three cords just in case. Throughout the summer and fall I would like to split an additional three cords, allowing additional time for the wood to season and to get ahead of what I would need.
As I surveyed the log length pieces, I estimated that I had my second cord there, but I wanted to split this cord first to get it out of the way and to refine my estimates. I had more treed which I wished to cut, and could do so if my estimates were short (and would do throughout the summer and fall anyways.) As I continued splitting I felt a sense of awareness of more than just my labor, and that felt a bit like much needed exercise. I kept listening to the birds, the ones just overhead and close by, and the ones further away in the woods, making different calls. Some of them were out in the field, many of them fluttered between the trees along this stone wall. I kept watch of the gradual shift of the shadows and the quality of light, which was continually pleasing. There was a consistent slight breeze, as there usually is near the edge of this hill, and although I would sweat while working the air felt as though it had a lively cool snap, it felt awake.
When I felt tired, I stopped, occasionally walking the stone wall, or sitting in a sunny spot. I stretched to keep my shoulders loose and to keep the blood moving through them. I drank my coffee and water, and took quite a few pictures. As I stacked the wood, I took care to place it as to reinforce the integrity of the stack, though not to the point of obsession (we’ll see if these stacks stand until the fall when I collect them.) At some point I made plans to meet my mother and grandmother for lunch, and felt a slight sense of urgency to finish the pile before then, which I soon realized would not be difficult to do. I thought about Dewey, this post as a “criticism of splitting wood,” fatherhood, and I remembered an idea about responded to Cindi’s ED 5010 final prompt, which was about her father. I thought about my stepfather’s wood splitter, and my 5-6 cord goal for the year. I repositioned the splitting block in order to make more efficient use of the space and the piles, and found that in this new position I could not fully extend my arms when swinging, but that this seemed to work better and easier when splitting. I had a few direct strikes of wood to the handle of the splitting mall, but it did not seem to be breaking at all (which I had done once or twice in my youth.) I continued to survey the grain of wood in each piece, as well as the knots where branches had been, in order to split each piece with the most ease I could find.
At 9:55 I finished splitting and stacking, noticed that my third stack was only about 3 feet tall and not 4, so by my estimates I was slightly under a cord. I felt really good, so I sat on the sunny rock, facing the sun with my back to the one large pine tree along the wall, until 10:00. Nada and I went back to the house and started other projects until I left to meet my family for lunch. Later my grandmother came to the house, we split a beer while sitting in the back yard, and then walked across the field to the wood pile and the view. She mentioned again how grateful she is, at 91, to have spent so much time in such a beautiful state.
I first had the thought (after E&N) to use the wood pile as an experience for criticism when I started the second stack and placed the first few pieces of the end tower perpendicular to the pile, rather than parallel to it. I felt I could discuss in great detail the aesthetics of splitting and stacking wood. As I worked on the pile the idea changed, as I considered the advantages of using a gasoline powered splitter. It seems like an obvious environmental discussion, weighing the advantages of time saved and availability of a cleaner, renewable fuel source in contrast to a relatively miniscule amount of carbon emissions from the splitter, given that I’ve already used a mechanical saw and diesel powered tractor while working with the wood. I decided to split the first cord by hand before making a decision, but as I did I felt the discussion changing again, towards one of overall aesthetics.
Disregarding the economical and environmental considerations (no matter what on some level I would turn out to be hypocritical,) the experience of splitting a cord of wood by hand and by machine, I think, are completely different. As I wrote above this experience felt more like play than work, and after years and years of laboring hard and efficiently for other people, in exchange for wages, I find a deep sense of pleasure in doing many of these same jobs for my own immediate benefit, at my free and leisurely pace, at my home, with my dog. There is something in looking at a pile of wood which I have split by hand which is more fulfilling than one split with a machine, and there is certainly more worth remembering in the process of labor when done by hand. Would I have considered Cindi's post while hunched over a loud engine sucking in fumes? I felt something of a desire to be the type of father she describes, having fun working with his children. I do feel an overall environmental discussion still, when rereading my thoughts of fatherhood, my grandmother’s affection for the beauty of our state, and the image of my children at her age. It’s an ever present, but almost subliminal background to my thinking.
Face on a coffee mug? A homemade wedding gift watching me work.


