Felt like summer was winding down even though school was better than a month away. Plenty left to do on the cabin. Emil said we were about half done. Less than that had we running water and needed to deal with plumbing. While I was at school Emil'd had gone shopping at Sears. When we loaded he already had a few boxes in the back. I figured he knew what they were for and I'd eventually find out.
Wednesday morning, our first back, while Emil laid a second coat of varnish on the outhouse floor, I began drilling good sized holes in the wall studs, one per stud, about a foot and a half above the floor. The drill he gave me was called a sill borer designed to do exactly what I was doing.
"Nothing fancy but it's a solid Craftsman and'll do the job just fine. Cost a pretty penny and I'll probably never use it again. Life in the big woods."
When I asked him why we were knocking holes in perfectly good two by fours he said, "Electricity. Didn't think there was any up here 'til I realized all those poles along the McFarland Road must be there for something. Talked with the power company and they said they'll probably run me a line next spring. Should the cabin have been closer to the road they could have done it this year. We're doing the wiring now 'cause it's easier with the walls open. And seein' as how I've got you to do the hard part, I figured I be a fool not to."
The first couple of holes were difficult. Took all I had to angle the drill and auger once it bit into the stud. Gave it a moment's thought and grabbed a length of stud from the scrap pile to use as a brace against the wall. It both set my gap and gave me something to lean the borer against. Then eased the auger in, shaving off a little at a time. Slower turned out to be faster. Seemed like I'd heard that somewhere before.
By the time Emil had his varnish brush clean I had a dozen of the more than a hundred holes done. He spelled me for a couple of holes then was off hanging what he called a hundred amp breaker box,
"State of the art. Doesn't use fuses and will give me the finest electrical system without a source of electricity in the entire free world. The epitome of useless. Wait'll you see the outlet and switch covers I ordered. Oak with walnut inlay, done in Cubist style and signed by Pablo Picasso. Just beautiful. I'd have preferred Van Gogh but he's dead and that makes 'em pricy as all get-out. Had I any sense I'd rig up one of the boxes Rube Goldberg style so it'd fire up a candle when I threw the switch."
By mid-afternoon we were hammering in outlet and switch boxes and stringing the electric lines. We ran eight circuits. Four along the base of the walls, one for the kitchen area, one for the Lookout and two that could be used outside for lights and tools. Ran the lines into the boxes with plenty of cable to spare, folded them neatly then closed the boxes. Finished by three on Thursday and started tacking up the wall insulation. Won't bore you with the details as there's not a lot of glory in wall insulation. On the other hand, ceiling insulation is indeed an art form so long as your idea of art is along the lines of Andy Warhol's industrial art. 'Bout the only difference is real fiberglass'll help keep you warm in the winter months and a Warhol'd only make think of warmth. Or maybe soup. Or, if you're like me, leave you cold. Not good when it's minus forty.
To insulate the ceiling we jury-rigged a scaffolding using the big beam, planks, studs and scrap plywood. Wasn't much to look at but was solid. Sunday afternoon we were done.
"Archie me lad, I figure we'll knock off around Labor Day. Maybe take a week and do something else. For the moment I'm at a loss as to what that might be. Should you come up with any ideas let me know. I'm game for most anything."
Truth was the idea of putting in another week of work seemed fine with me. Going up north and camping out still held its appeal but we already were up north, were surrounded by good fishing and should we want to camp out we could always set up the tent. I liked being where we were. No place I'd rather be and wanted to stretch out and savor what time I had left. Work appealed. Maybe a different kind? We worked on in silence for a few minutes,
"How about firewood? You've got some but probably need a whole lot more. I've seen a bunch deadfall around here, no reason why some of it wouldn't be good to burn. If we put in a solid week of gathering and splitting, you'd have enough to last for whatever part of the winter you'd spend up here."
So that became the plan. I still wanted a week at home before starting school in five weeks. What we'd been doing had been the summer of my life but a week at home with nothing to do besides the mundane chores of yard and house work seemed a pleasure. Time to adjust and accept what was coming.
Our remaining time was spent with wood. Nailing it up in the cabin or breaking it apart outside. Started by putting up a set of stairs to the lookout. Nothing fancy. She was a little on the steep side and had a make-shift railing. All the interior paneling was tongue and grooved cedar. Mid-September found the ceiling and most of the Lookout sheathed and oiled. Didn't feel good about not being there for the finish.
"I wouldn't worry about that Archie. Back in June I was hoping to have the cabin buttoned up when you left for school and all that's left is the walls and floor. 'Til I get used to being alone again it'll be good to have something to do. Don't even know if I'll get around to the floor 'til next year when I can move outside while I'm varnishing. Don't know about you but this's been the first good summer I've had since Lena passed."
'Bout the only thing that needs being said about the cedar paneling is Emil installed it sideways. Usually the boards are nailed on vertically but he liked the feeling horizontal gave him. "Brings the ceiling down, cozy like," he said. Also allowed him to skip the bottom board on the Lookout's walls, "Airflow. Rising heat'll keep the upstairs warm when it's cold and'll pull the heat up and out the windows when it's warm. At least that's the idea."
Turned out the only deadfall of use was about a cord of maple. Instead, we walked the land looking at the tree tops. While we looked, Emil explained,
"A tree can only grow as high as it can shoot food and water. Mostly I'm looking at the birches. Not the best firewood in the world but the best in these woods. Under normal circumstances they won't make a century. Most die a lot sooner than that. Finicky buggers, don't like too much heat, cold, water or drought. Thing is, with a birch what you see above ground is more like a mushroom than say, an oak. You can fell a birch but the roots keep on living and'll send up new shoots. That's why you see all these nice clusters around here. What was one is now three or four. But what we're looking for is different."
"When a birch peaks, the upper branches start to shed leaves. Doesn't always mean a lot, just that they're as tall as they can be. However, when the shedding starts to move down, the end is near. Couple, three years at the most. Those are the ones I'm looking for. Already have one jack pine, don't need another. Pine creosotes up the flue something terrible but it sure smells good when you walk outside on a cold winter's night."
Emil marked the trees he intended to fell by shaving a little bark off the trunk. "Six or eight for now. Should give us three or so cords to go with the two I've in the shed and the dry maple we salvaged. Nowhere near enough for a winter but seein' as how I'm not wintering over this year, it'll do."
Lacking another means, we grunted the wood out of the forest in four and a half foot lengths and stacked them by the shed. Any branch thinner than two inches was piled where it fell, sliced with the saw and stomped as flat as possible by your's truly.
"Over time the pile'll turn to soil. 'Til then it'll make a home for mice, rabbits and the occasional wombat."
We did better than a tree a day. Emil did the felling with the yellow McCulloch and shortened the four footers to eighteen inches at the shed. There we took turns with the maul. A foot thick chunk would be split six ways, "Won't be ready to burn this fall but should be okay in the spring when I return."
I learned to love splitting wood. Before we started I had this movie image of needing a splitting block and an axe. Emil saw no need, just stood an eighteen inch length on the ground and went at it with a six pound maul. 'Spose he might have felt differently had we a slab big enough to serve as a block. His rule of thumb was spread your legs and keep your eye on exactly where you want the maul to strike. Should the wood have a crack across its face, help it along. By week's end we'd felled, sawed, hauled, sawed again, split, moved and stacked better than four full cords. Whoever said 'he who heats with wood is twice warmed' never actually gathered their own fuel.
"Seems versifiers are appreciated more for their poetic feet than cubic feet. The difference between art and craft ain't in the beauty. A person can use and admire the beauty of craft. A four by four by eight stack of hardwood, hand made ash paddle or the cabin we're alongside hold more meaning and beauty for me than any of the Dutch Masters. Archie, we're not craftsmen but there's truth with a capital T in what we've done. Could be the hours, sweat and blisters that went into the making. Also the laughter and the screw-ups."
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