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I have a confession to make. I couldn’t eat another pot roast leftover for dinner tonight. I chose Ramen Noodles instead. Creamy Chicken flavor. I think the words chicken and flavor were even in quotes. You know, as if to indicate that neither word was entirely truthful. I just couldn’t eat another tasty bite of Roast Thor. Three nights in a row is my limit. I promise I’ll make delicious Pot Roast Hash tomorrow morning for breakfast. And I’ll make Cath eat some, too, instead of her usual oatmeal with blueberries. I don’t want to get in trouble with the Beef Police, but dear Jesus there is only so many times I can have it. In a row.

Make no mistake, Thor has been one tasty dude. A little chewy, but definitely pleasing to the palate. Burgers. Steaks. Roasts. Stews. Sirloin tips. I gave the liver to my Mom, but I’ll bet it was tasty as well. To her. I think liver is too sweet. Oh, and I gave the tongue away as a birthday present. Or maybe it was an anniversary. Odd couple, really, but I digress. What I’m getting at is that as the Junior Cattleman of 34th Street, I sort of have an obligation to tout beef to everyone, all the time and even though I raise chickens, they’re egg layers for the most part whereas the cattle are beef cattle. BEEF! Do you understand? Ever seen them serve  chicken a la king at a luncheon for Cattlemen? I’ll bet there isn’t a Lee’s or  a KFC within 20 miles of Omaha.

Frankly, given that I have a steer, a bull and possibly a heifer about to take their first (and last) road trip I am not that concerned about “cheating”. I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in beef. We’re going to be serving beef f*ing pancakes for breakfast around here until I can close the freezer without sitting on it so maybe a little Ramen, or the Shrimp and Sausage Jambalaya I’m making tomorrow night won’t diminish me in the eyes of the beef community too much.

The wood fairy came to my house while I was out camping in 29 degree weather this weekend. Actually, two wood fairies visited. One dropped off a load of cut firewood. The other put some of it in my wood furnace while I shivered in my tent halfway across the county. At this point, my city friends are going: and how much did THAT cost you? It cost nothing other than a little friendship capital and hunting rights.

My friend Brandon hunts my property, which is a sort of deer highway connector – like I-290 in Chicago  or I-575 in Atlanta. Nothing of interest in between the end points. In any case, Brandon drops me a few loads of wood in exchange for permission to hunt. He got a 3 point buck last week. Me? I wasn’t going to hunt anyway. I raise cattle. Much less sitting around in cold tree stands. In any case, my friend Sheryce came by and closed the chicken coop and tossed a load of wood into the furnace for me as well. After shivering in a tent all night, it was nice to come home to a warm house, believe me!

The point is that as much as I love all my Facebook friends, sometimes, it pays to get to know your physical neighbors as well. Even though our houses are much further apart out here, I think we’re a lot closer as neighbors than in most places where the houses are right next to each other.

I told myself that I was only going to run the wood furnace for a few days until it got warmer. That was last Sunday. It’s not any warmer yet. It is, however, stunningly beautiful. Fall in Rural America is always like that, however. At least, it is in the part of Rural America blessed with four seasons and lots of deciduous trees. A friend of mine was up North last weekend and said he actually saw snow. That’s not fall though. That’s winter sneaking in early.

Every fall I go through the “winter isn’t here yet” denial dance. I know that the day after Labor Day, the weather stops being dependably warm. I know that by Halloween it stops being just cool and has moved into rainy cold. I know that by Thanksgiving I sure as hell better have a gigantic stack of firewood or I will be hosed. Yet….I can never quite bring myself to acknowledge all these things at the same time. Or at least, on time. I love fall, but it always catches me a little off guard. Like a favorite friend who shows up for an overnight visit a day early. (Or, if you DON’T like fall, an ill-favored in-law who shows up a day early!)

This, of course, is the normal state of affairs for me, and perhaps most people. What? It’s the week before Christmas? Better get shopping. What? I’m 40? Better start saving for retirement. And, the evergreen, “Holy Cow! How did it get so late?” Which is why I am halfway through my stacked and cut firewood already and instead of cutting more this weekend, I am camping out with a pack of Webelos and Boy Scouts. In 29 degree weather. It sounded like a better idea at the time, trust me.

They say the man who heats with wood warms himself twice. Three times if you count the flush of embarrassment in calling the wood guy in February because you’re out already.  If you’re reading this from a computer in the city or on some suburban cul de sac, go ahead and bump up the thermostat a notch for me and go read Jack London’s “Too Build a Fire.” In the meantime, I’ll still be figuring out when I’ll actually get out there after campouts and soccer tournaments and everything else. Probably right after winter stops sneaking in and starts pounding on the door.