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Just when I thought I knew some shit. Our neighbor was at the local library today when one guy attacked another guy in front of the Recent Periodicals. Hijinx ensued. Elderly librarians freak out. Seniors on field trip from nearby old folks home are horrified. Local police almost let wrong guy go. Wife on library board will soon have to deal with “policy issues” that arise. In a big city, I’d never have heard about it, unless it involved gun play, so there’s something to be said about a fight in a small town library. All I really want to know is, what Recent Periodical could incite such a ruckus?

Pack it up, pack it in. Let me begin!

It’s been a busy month. As usual I am stretched too thin. I am trying to launch a new web site that involves a staggering amount of data entry. I am trying to redo our 4th bedroom so it is no longer the “Room of Shame” and I’m trying to get some stuff done for work. Throw in the usual  farm things like filling the trough (the cattle knocked out the cord to the tank heater),  the hot tub (its leaking somewhere), and the wood furnace (its cold out), and fetching beef from the butcher (tasty meat!) and I am seriously jumping around. And yes, I know that filling the hot tub is not a traditional farm chore, but you’ve never had to keep the hose reel in the mud room so it won’t freeze because you need to add water to the hot tub (and/or the wood furnace) every two days.

I got more task than cops at a dunkin doughnuts! (as the song says)

The thing is, January is when they tell you – they being the folks who write books on living on farms – that January is for maintaining equipment and getting ready for cutting timber or collecting maple syrup or something. I added diesel to the tractor the other day, but that’s been about it.  At least, it smelled like diesel. Oh well. The tractor is still running, so it’s probably fine. In any case, people always assume that country life is at a slower pace than city life. No. That’s just the lack of a rush hour fooling you. We’re busy out here, too. Maybe busier. We’ve got PTA meetings  and soccer and most everything else, with the possible exception of avant garde art gallery openings, AND we’ve got livestock on top of that.

Think about that the next time you fantasize about moving to the country. Your hectic life could get MORE hectic. On the other hand, you could just decide to pay someone to rehab the 4th bedroom and save yourself a big hassle, but where’s the fun in that? Its so….city.

One of the nice things about living out in the schtix is the fact that even when you have neighbors, the tend to be far enough away that they don’t mind (read: can’t hear) when you play Digital Underground REALLY LOUD. Some of you are no doubt saying, “Ben, who is this Digital Underground that you speak of?” To those people, I say, click here. There are also some of you saying, “Ben, what kind of country squire are you that you are listening to Digital Underground?” To those people, I say, click here.

I’ve been doing a lot of mindless data entry lately – hey, it happens. Even here in Rural America. Deal with it. – so I’ve been playing lots of really loud music to keep me going. I have to say that as I type, I am playing music so loud that if I lived in an apartment, condo, or a thin walled close neighbored old Victorian in Chicago, I better invite the neighbors over for the party or wear headphones. That is one of the many cool things about the country. Sure, I’m not listening to Alan Jackson or whoever just won American Idol, but NO ONE CARES! Well, I mean, if I drove through town in my beat up old GMC pickup truck playing “Freaks of the Industry” or the New Orleans Klezmer All Stars loud enough to rattle the barber shop windows I’d get a few stares, but not at home. A man’s home is his castle. Especially when his castle is far away enough from your own that he can play House of Pain’s Jump Around so loud that the barn cats are running for cover.

So next time you think that country folk are intolerant or square, just remember, that you can’t be intolerant of stuff you can’t hear or see!

I was feeling pretty smug about all the wood I have stacked. Then I started noticing how fast I am using it. Crap. After our little blizzard yesterday, its a little late to go out and cut more in the woods, too. Time to call Tim Green, the wood guy.

On a side note: mix the green wood with the seasoned wood. My Hardy wood furnace will burn most anything, but wet wood tends to burn in the center and not fall down onto the grate, where the blower will fan the flames. Thus, after awhile, the fire temperature goes way down. I learned this previously, but forgot to take the lesson to heart and ended up crawling around on my stomach in the snow clearing the ash grate and blower and then rearranging all the wood. It was still burning, but when the wind chill is -3, it’s good to make sure that the water is at full temp (180 degrees)!

There you go! Another pearl of wisdom from your country cousin. You can feel all smug riding METRA into work this morning now.

Few things in life give a sense of accomplishment like laying in wood for the winter. Maybe running a marathon or completing an advanced degree in Astrophysics or finishing the Kenworth platter at Deano’s. Whatever. All I’m saying is that when you start the day with a giant pile of wood to split and finish the day with a neatly stacked pile of wood ready for burning when it finally gets nasty cold outside (or, as my friend Ivan has been known to say, “ass cold”) it feels really good. That might just be the Short’s Brew India Pale Ale talking, because after splitting and stacking a couple tons of firewood, one needs a decent ale and a lot of Ben Gay. Both should be applied strategically. For instance, Ben Gay should not be taken internally, but a good IPA simply cannot be appreciated otherwise.

Let’s just say that when I waved goodbye to Carmen and Sheryce, my two crazy friends who volunteered to help me, I walked back in the moonlight to view a looming tower of wood and sighed with relief. I’d started the day with about 2 days worth of wood ready. I finished the day with enough for about a month and a half. Of course, I need another 3 months worth, but what the heck. Here’s the thing though: most of it is still totally wet. ATTENTION CITY FOLK: wet wood is bad. The good thing is that my outdoor wood furnace can burn darn near anything. The bad news is that it craps up the inside of the furnace something fierce. The wood was dropped in July, but since I’m just now splitting it, its still really wet. Give me a break, I totally gutted and redid my kids’ rooms in August and we had soccer up until 2 weeks ago.

Now, here’s the thing. I had a ton of help. I borrowed the splitter from Carmen. I borrowed the hands of Sheryce. Many hands make light work. Both helped me with some real manual labor to get things done. We did this while their kids played in the hot tub – managing to blow the breaker with all the splashing, I might add – and playing Pacman on the TV (thanks Jackks Pacific!) – or riding around in the bucket of the Kubota. I’m sure that’s an OSHA violation, but I also think OSHA is based in a city somewhere.

Finally, it got too dark to work, even with the Kubota’s headlights illuminating the splitter.  Note to Kubota: next time you redesign the Grand series, put the damn headlights somewhere not totally blocked by the loader bucket that 99% of your tractors are equipped with. We headed inside and let the kids play card games and hide n’ seek while we warmed up with coffee and craft brewed India Pale Ale. Drinking IPA and using a Kubota might disqualify me from “true country” but for an urban to rural transplant, it was just fine with me. Now, where is the Ben Gay?