Chuck Some Wood

Cutting and felling trees, milling logs and preparing firewood is not an exact science. It surely dates back many centuries, and many of the practices and terms of reference have remained unchanged, because… well, because… Hey, that’s just the way it is.

How much wood is on your truck?

Different folk will give you different answers for the same load, but generally they will express the quantity in cords or cubic metres or cubic feet.

According to Professor Wiki, the cord is a unit of measure of dry volume used to measure firewood and pulpwood in the USA and Canada, although the term is used informally elsewhere. A cord is the amount of wood that, when "ranked and well stowed" (arranged so pieces are aligned, parallel, touching and compact), occupies a volume of 128 cubic feet (3.62 cu.m.) This corresponds to a well stacked woodpile 4 feet (122 cm) high, 8 feet (244 cm) long, and 4 feet (122 cm) deep; or any other arrangement of linear measurements that yields the same volume. The name cord probably comes from the use of a cord or string to measure it.

We ordered some pine from local supplier Richard down the road, who advised that he supplies 4 cubic metre loads (about 1.1 cords). Now, it isn’t that Richard wants to be difficult that he has such an odd unit of supply, it’s that Richard’s 2-ton delivery truck holds 4 cubic metres (approximately)

Richard’s loaded truck does not look as neat as the load in the picture above, meaning that he has not followed the international specification of “ranked and well stowed”, but rather loaded in a more non-orderly fashion. I believe the correct technical term is probably “chucked on.”

(Above): White-gumbooted Richard arrived quite promptly at half-nine, as he had undertaken. Alone. He had no assistants to help offload what is quite a few bits of firewood. No problem though, as he reversed slowly and docked close to the four pallets I had pre-placed on the driveway. Hand-brake on, and the thing started tipping, depositing the firewood on the ground easy-peasy.

But, like a dog poo-ing on the wrong spot, half the wood landed on the hard surface instead of the wooden pallet.

Now, there is still a supply of firewood in the shed, and this new batch will not necessarily be burned immediately, or even this winter. Time will tell, so it needs to be neatly packed in the back of the wood-shed – stock rotation is the name of the game. The re-packing of the shed will take a large part of Saturday, so I need to secure the new arrivals securely and safely from the heavy rains which the weatherman has been promising – we’ve already had 3 mm this morning.

(Above): Re-packing the haphazard heap into a slightly more orderly pile on the pallets is an easy job. Simply do it one or two pieces at a time. Theoretically, one could perform this process for 40 cubic metres, it remains the same, it simply takes a bit longer. But no fear, we only have a 4 R.Cu. M. heap ( Richard Cubic Metres)

(Above): Midway through, I was greeted by a cup of tea. Very nice.  Then the Roofing Contractor (yes, I’ve already forgotten his name!) arrived unexpectedly to do a provisional inspection of his tasks ahead – also a welcome break fro 10 minutes. Eventually, we had four pallets, packed almost 1 metre high – in my book, that makes 4 cubic metres.

(Above): I appreciate that the purists among you will try to point out that a little rain-water has never hurt any pieces if fire-wood, but I eventually ended up with this wrapped stowage, because (a) I like things to be orderly and look pretty, especially when its in the front of your home and visible to the street, and (b) I’m not sure if there is any logic in piling chunks of soggy firewood on top of each other in the wood-shed.

The next job on the list will be to re-arrange the contents of the woodshed. Neat.

Little House on the Prairie

At Chartwell we’re rather far from the prairie. Or any other flat rolling country grassland, for that matter. As implied by the name Reikorangi Valley, hills, ravines and valleys are more our surroundings. But, if you can picture an isolated farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with smoke rising lazily from the chimney, then you will understand the picture I’m trying to paint.

(Above): This is Sprott Farmhouse, Alabama from many a yesteryear, when such forested areas were occupied by cotton fields – without smoke rising from the chimney stack. It is really more like the picture I’m trying to paint. But I digress. English literature lecturer would rap one over the knuckle for wandering off the subject…

In New Zealand, winter officially occupies the months of June, July, and August, although the country is not known as Aotearoa (‘the land of the long white cloud’) for its cuteness – the weather is very changeable, whatever the season…

With this in mind, you will understand that our leak-raking and gathering is petering off, as the numbers of remaining autumn leaves starts to dwindle. Winter is definitely on its way to us, when you feel the temperature of the long wet grass through thick rubber gumboots.

(Above): The piles of leaves are becoming progressively smaller as the trees convert to nudism for the Winter.

 

(Above): The trees through the pergola in The Snake are of the last to start undressing. The trellis seen at the far end marks the eastern boundary of the North Wing extension.

(Above): This weekend Clayton conducted a dress rehearsal of the kitchen fire to check the fire-worthiness of the different classes of firewood in the wood-shed and to evaluate the draught and condition  of the chimney flue (in case it needs sweeping). All went well, with the dogs promptly settling in to enjoy the radiant heat for the night.

So many of us associate the acrid city smell of wood and garbage smoke with the poor urban and rural settlements where any and all combustibles are set alight for cooking and heating. What we don’t remember are some of the aromas I experienced on Sunday evening: the rich aromas (as opposed to smells of burning rubbish) of pine, macrocarpa, eucalyptus and wattle – each with its own burning pattern and fire temperature range – and own distinctive aroma.

Inside the kitchen/ dining-room there was a cosy ambience with the orange of the flames flickering about. I guess that this will be most appreciated on the cold winter’s days still to come. Then I took a slow walk outside to enjoy the rich wood aromas, as the smoke gently wafted from the chimney and out into the pines, before dark set in.

It was simply quite invigorating. Stand still and close you eyes for a while and imagine…  its much like being near a House on the Prairie. 

A few steps towards the orchard part of the garden, and a brief gusty breeze rustled through the apple trees, like the hand of an invisible giant shaking the tree-tops. Platoons of dozens of variegated leaves came wafting down to the green carpet underfoot. Hmmm. The consolation is that leaf raking will soon be a chore of the past until next autumn.

But even a task as mundane as leak raking can be quite therapeutic, if you allow it.