Hillbilly Weekend

Seeing that I totally blew off splitting wood until the September, freak-ish snow storm, that event reminded me to get my arse in gear and consequently I rented a hydraulic wood splitter this past weekend. Wasn't having a whole lot of luck renting because all the other hayseeds around me were doing the same thing until i called the last rental joint. It was also conveniently located 10 minutes from my house. What a fortunate break. The sucky thing was this past weekend was GLORIOUS weather-speaking. How would I spend it? Splitting wood in my worn-out steel toed Doc Martin industrial rated shoes, ear protection, straw Stetson hat and my overalls my li'brah gave me back in the day. Remember Captain Kangaroo's Mr. Green Jeans (yes, I'm dating myself)? I pretty much emulated that except inside the overalls think instead of a 5' 7" devastatingly handsome filipino wannabee competitive cyclist. All I need is a corn-cobb pipe, an ox named "Babe", and some banjo lessons to complete the hillybilly transformation...
I figured seven straight hours would do me completely in so I busted ass splitting as much of the "trunk" sized pieces of wood as opposed to the smaller stuff I could tear up using the mauler and chainsaw. When it was all said and done, I probably split 4 Toyota Tacoma pick-up truck sized beds (filled to the top!) worth of hardwoods (evergreens suck but they'll burn). We loaded two bed-fulls on Sunday next to our house and I'm guesstimating we have another two we can load up to stack next time. We better do it soon because the snowy season is pretty much upon us in the high-country (my Suunto altimeter says 8,500'); that was Saturday...
Sunday, my father in-law Bob whom unlike other peoples' in-laws, I actually think he's a badass, came over to help replace our small firebox-stove with the bigger, cast iron firebox (fireplace stove) in our barn (left behind from the previous owners). The latest one we have in our living room has an ill-equipped firebox volume rating deficit compared to the square feet it has to heat. Enter the stove from the barn. It's at least 2.5X more volume than the lame one in our living room.
We'da considered a pellet stove but that requires electricity. Where we live the snow malingers until April where freak, spring snowfalls are so heavy they snap trees in half which snap power lines, that leave us without electricity for days on end! So, while a pellet stove might seem practical, it won't do a thing without electricity. Our well pump runs on electricity too so once Mother Nature unloads her snow on us we keep a bathtub full of water just in case...
We take the barn from the stove to our house on an industrial grade dolly. Afterwards Melissa and I pick up the 200 lb "wimpy" stove from our living room outside. Okay, so while I consider myself to be fairly manly (at least manly enough to move a 200 lb stove with my wife), sadly I was not. When Melissa and I were moving the stove, I had to take these baby, shuffle steps and sadly I was the one to call "break" every 10 feet. Yes, I'm a wimp and one of the first signs is to publicly admit it...
Well kids! Seems like we're getting our ducks in a row to make this winter a smidge more manageable and hella more comfortable. Hella is a Système International d'Unités (i.e. a S.I. recognized unit). With the old firebox our living room would be barely in the sixties during winter. Now (albeit it's not the December deep-freeze), I can walk around in just my boxers and flip-flops and be actually warm. It's great. At night, we pack the firebox with wood and when I wake the house is still warm. Simply amazing. I wonder why we didn't get it done sooner (well, I actually know why: it's because I'm a talented and gifted procrastinator-that's why!).
I'm in Texas now visiting my parents and I forgot my cord to my digital camera so next time I'll show you the picture of our new stove. You gotta earn the privilege to be comfortable up here in the high country. I'll take this type of living any day though over city living back in Denver. Denver's nice; but not so much my thing anymore. It's quite a paradigm shift when you start bike riding conversations with, "Damn y'all, my chainsaw's the $hit!"