TexasSportsman
Well-Known Member
I live in a home that has a fireplace and I live it rarely gets cold enough to light it. There are some days in the winter when the temps drop into the 30s regularly but its not unheard of to get into the 20s and high to mid teens.
Early this summer a neighbor whose house is behind mine cut down a 44+ year old oak tree. It had grown gnarly and his wife didn't like the way it looked and wanted it down. Naturally women want a lot of things so long as they don't have to break a sweat.
As the tree came down one stubborn limb at a time it occured to me that here's a source of firewood, free firewood so long as he didn't have to haul it away. I asked him to toss a few limbs over our fence. Then one after another the limbs came as I stacked them up. I finally had to ask him to stop since I was about to run out of space.
Fast forward to this weekend the limbs had dried/cured enough to split them. I had an old wedge that belong to my grandfather who split firewood to heat his home and light up their cast iron stove. Even after a few months those oak limbs didn't give up very easily. I have two nice stacks of firewood that need another month or two, maybe longer to cure. But I have several more logs to go.
I can't imagine my grandfather splitting firewood. Oak trees aren't native in the area where he lived so what he split was likely a softer wood. I recall old black and white photos of my grandfather spitting wood and my dad and uncles when they were young trying not to get in the way.
He usually split enough firewood to last at least 2/3 of the winter. My Dad's side of the family lived with very little. My grandmother was a motel maid and my grandfather worked as custodian at a local school. Neither had enough education to climb the ranks of the employable. But they drove need for an education into my Dad and Uncles. When I was old enough to begin hunting my Dad wasn't interested in going. He wasn't interested in venison that I offered after the hunt. My uncle shared with me years later that back in the day when the family was scratching out an existence you hunted because you didn't have money for the grocery store. If your meat came wrapped in plastic or butchers paper you had money. If you hunted it was because you didn't have money. So between the four of them they'd take their limit of mule deer and the occasional elk and my grandmother, by herself, would process the meat and freeze in the three, third hand freezers they bought discarded and grandfather repaired.
Because they ate venison every day for years and years Dad developed a strong dislike for it. When Dad graduated from high school and joined the Air Force he put himself through school and worked extra jobs on and off base to earn more money. It was then that Dad kinda swore off venison and ate beef wrapped in butchers paper or plastic wrap.
I cannot image a life without venison in my freezer. To me its a treat that is to be conserved so that I don't run out until the following season. It was because of my Dad that my wife and I live in the comfort we enjoy today. Don't get me wrong we don't have a Benz or BMW in the garage but compared to how my Dad's family lived back in the day my wife and I are living in splendor.
My Dad passed away three years ago. I miss my Dad and my grandfather. When I clean my rifles, when I make that walk to the deer stand or walk and stalk. I think of them. I had an old photo of my grandfather and uncle with a truck bed full of mulies. I wonder what became of it. I never was able to go hunting with my grandfather or my Dad. Dad and his family were country folks and my mothers' side were city folks.
There's nothing wrong with being either. But often they don't mix. Dad spent the remainder of his years on the family ranch and my mother refused to spend time there because of how remote it was. The nearest gas station/grocery store/carwash was a 40 minute drive and anything more was took up half the day getting there and back. Time that Dad would rather use working on his tractors, doctoring the cattle and horses, fixing fence, avoiding venison and the numerous other chores that keeps a man working from first light till dusk.
Did I mention that I missed my Dad? I'm sure I did.
Early this summer a neighbor whose house is behind mine cut down a 44+ year old oak tree. It had grown gnarly and his wife didn't like the way it looked and wanted it down. Naturally women want a lot of things so long as they don't have to break a sweat.
As the tree came down one stubborn limb at a time it occured to me that here's a source of firewood, free firewood so long as he didn't have to haul it away. I asked him to toss a few limbs over our fence. Then one after another the limbs came as I stacked them up. I finally had to ask him to stop since I was about to run out of space.
Fast forward to this weekend the limbs had dried/cured enough to split them. I had an old wedge that belong to my grandfather who split firewood to heat his home and light up their cast iron stove. Even after a few months those oak limbs didn't give up very easily. I have two nice stacks of firewood that need another month or two, maybe longer to cure. But I have several more logs to go.
I can't imagine my grandfather splitting firewood. Oak trees aren't native in the area where he lived so what he split was likely a softer wood. I recall old black and white photos of my grandfather spitting wood and my dad and uncles when they were young trying not to get in the way.
He usually split enough firewood to last at least 2/3 of the winter. My Dad's side of the family lived with very little. My grandmother was a motel maid and my grandfather worked as custodian at a local school. Neither had enough education to climb the ranks of the employable. But they drove need for an education into my Dad and Uncles. When I was old enough to begin hunting my Dad wasn't interested in going. He wasn't interested in venison that I offered after the hunt. My uncle shared with me years later that back in the day when the family was scratching out an existence you hunted because you didn't have money for the grocery store. If your meat came wrapped in plastic or butchers paper you had money. If you hunted it was because you didn't have money. So between the four of them they'd take their limit of mule deer and the occasional elk and my grandmother, by herself, would process the meat and freeze in the three, third hand freezers they bought discarded and grandfather repaired.
Because they ate venison every day for years and years Dad developed a strong dislike for it. When Dad graduated from high school and joined the Air Force he put himself through school and worked extra jobs on and off base to earn more money. It was then that Dad kinda swore off venison and ate beef wrapped in butchers paper or plastic wrap.
I cannot image a life without venison in my freezer. To me its a treat that is to be conserved so that I don't run out until the following season. It was because of my Dad that my wife and I live in the comfort we enjoy today. Don't get me wrong we don't have a Benz or BMW in the garage but compared to how my Dad's family lived back in the day my wife and I are living in splendor.
My Dad passed away three years ago. I miss my Dad and my grandfather. When I clean my rifles, when I make that walk to the deer stand or walk and stalk. I think of them. I had an old photo of my grandfather and uncle with a truck bed full of mulies. I wonder what became of it. I never was able to go hunting with my grandfather or my Dad. Dad and his family were country folks and my mothers' side were city folks.
There's nothing wrong with being either. But often they don't mix. Dad spent the remainder of his years on the family ranch and my mother refused to spend time there because of how remote it was. The nearest gas station/grocery store/carwash was a 40 minute drive and anything more was took up half the day getting there and back. Time that Dad would rather use working on his tractors, doctoring the cattle and horses, fixing fence, avoiding venison and the numerous other chores that keeps a man working from first light till dusk.
Did I mention that I missed my Dad? I'm sure I did.
