I had dreams of making it in the NFL for a while but dreams of youth have a way of fading ...

I eventually became a teacher and coach. By this stage of my life, I was cutting firewood once again, just like I had done back home in Minnesota.

Time marches on. I moved out of that electrically heated house. My kids grew up. Life changed. My first wife and I parted ways.

Here's a picture of my ASH. Nice, huh? (I’m referring to the load in the background, not the one in the foreground.)

Yup, there it is, a load of ash firewood on the west side of the Missouri River in old North Dakota, not too far from the Cross Ranch. I used the buzz saw to cut the wood to stove lengths. The man who owned the land is a mighty fine gentleman. He was my father-in-law at the time. I had electric heat in my house, and it was expensive, so I put in a wood stove and burned many, many cords of wood over about ten years or so. Do you suppose that trailer could haul a cord of wood? More about that later.

“I grow old;

I grow old.

I shall wear the bottoms Of my trousers rolled.”

(from “Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by George Eliot)

Time does take its toll, doesn't it? Oh, well ... It's better than the alternative. I had put away my chain saws for good. Or so I thought.

We’ll start with CHAIN SAWS.

(Click the Link!)

It created quite a little work for us.

I noticed neighbors hiring tree service people to clean up after the storm.

I rented a trailer to haul out the brush. I cut and piled up the wood where the sun could dry it out for firewood.

I thought it might be fun to post a website documenting my exploits and sharing some of my experience ...

... with other folks who, like me, are thinking of burning a little firewood this coming winter.

Meanwhile, back to my ASH: This past summer, a windstorm split one of our ash trees vertically.

Looks like the remainder of the tree might survive. We'll be finding out next spring, I guess.