How to Collect Firewood

To cut enough wood to keep a house warm for the winter, you’ll need to know your way around a chain saw.

 

 

When I saw this “tip” in the NYTimes, it set me to thinking about my 20-year career as a woodcutter.  You can read their article, here.  Then read my musings below. My guess is most readers of the NYTimes – as well as most readers of this blog – will have little use for that much firewood. Still it’s fun to recall. And just in case you were wondering, the instrument used to hand split firewood is called a “maul,” not an “ax.” I wouldn’t necessarily expect a NYTimes reporter to know that bit of information. But for you, we require precision.  You’re welcome.

 

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When we moved from California to Colorado Springs at the end of 1994, we rented a place on the east side of town that had 17′ ceilings and a wood-burning fireplace in the Great Room. The views of Pikes Peak out the windows looking west were nothing short of spectacular. Anne was pregnant with our 3rd child at the time.  The place had 3 bedrooms.  We were all set. Only one fly in the ointment: If we were to use that fireplace, we had to have firewood.

Luckily, the USDA Forest Service sold firewood permits, four cords for forty bucks. I doubted we’d need that much since we were only recreational users. But hey, maybe the neighbors might need some? Little did I know what I was getting myself into: A decades-long sojourn in the Pike National Forest that would keep me busy for years to come.

 

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I started off with a cheap little 16″ Homelite chainsaw and an undersized 6-lb. maul. I bought a rusted out Chevy Blazer that could only haul half a cord at a time. Pretty soon I was in business.  Literally. The subdivision where we lived was called “Old Farm.” So I printed up flyers and distributed them around the neighborhood advertising “Old Farm Firewood.” Ninety bucks a cord, split, dried, and delivered to your door. Stacking, just ten bucks extra. What a deal!

There was a dog run in back of that house, and we didn’t get our dog until 2001. So that space became our firewood storage area, enough to let 4 or 5 cords cure for a year. The permit was for cutting only standing deadwood, so the beetle-kill I cut was already plenty dry, having  been dead several years by the time I got to it. And demand was strong enough that I was able to move 10 cords that first year and still have enough to keep our fireplace humming all winter long.

The second year I sold 20 cords. By that time I had graduated from a 16″ Homelite to a 20″ Stihl.  I moved up from a 6# to an 8# maul.  And I added a cutoff ’65 Chevy pickup trailer so I didn’t have to make quite so many trips 42 miles each way from Old Farm to the cutting area near Westcreek.

 

 

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By year seven of my woodcutting side-hustle, we had moved across town to Mountain Shadows where we bought a house. One of the requirements we had for our realtor was that there had to be a big enough back yard for 10 cords of firewood. (FYI a cord is a volume 4′ x 4′ x 8′ of tightly stacked wood.) Also, of course, the place had to have a wood-burning fireplace. Check, check, and double-check.

My truck was now upgraded to an extended-bed Dodge RAM 1500. Between that and the pull-behind trailer, I could transport a full cord at a time. And since it’s always good to have a partner when you’d otherwise be out in the woods alone, that’s when I brought Darwin aboard. He wasn’t much help stacking.  But he was always ready and willing when the time came to hop in the truck and head up the hill. I’m not sure who got more exercise, him or me. But by the end of a day cutting, we both came home bone tired and happy.

 

 

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Probably my peak firewood cutting years were right around Y2K. That’s when people thought the world was gonna end by computer meltdown. So they stockpiled canned goods and tried to become as self-sufficient as possible. Nothing like a wood-stove and cord of dry split Douglas Fir stacked out back to give you the illusion of being ready for the apocalypse. Fifty cords a year was the most I could manage in my spare time, mostly on weekends and holidays since I did have a day job. The cutting season usually lasted from June 1st until sometime after Christmas when the snow got too deep to get my truck in and out of the cutting area without getting stuck.

Over the course of those years I got in really great shape (BMI under 24).  And I made some extra money. But even at $150 a cord, the point was always more about the health benefits and a sense of entrepreneurship than about striking it rich or world domination. And that alone-time in the woods with just me, Darwin, and my Stihl?  Priceless.

 

 

Since we moved to the Denver suburbs five years ago I’m retired from the firewood business. My yard has enough space for only one Mountain Ash tree.  And forest fires – Hayman (2002), Waldo Canyon (2012), and Black Forest (2013) – have decimated the areas I used to cut. The Stihl, the maul, and the dog are all history. Gone too are truck and trailer. Nowadays I burn only natural gas in my fireplace. Sadly, my BMI has crept back up over 24. Coincidence? I think not. But I prefer to look on the bright side: At least we now all know the difference between a maul and an ax.  That’s gotta be worth something at least.