It's easy to feel inspired splitting wood when it's 25 below zero like it was this morning. I'd dropped a couple of trees out back just before Christmas and had them bucked up into firewood size blocks, ready to split. Christmas eve was a day for skiing before the real cold came, and fun it was. Christmas day was our first sub-zero day of the winter at 18 below and a day to spend indoors with family and food. This morning our daughter headed home to the big city and the post-Christmas calm settled in. A hungry wood stove has been cause for frequent trips to the wood shed, and a reminder to keep busy making next season's firewood. When it's too cold to do much else outdoors, chopping wood seems about right.
I was talking to some friends a few nights ago, over some good craft beer, about aging and eating. It was agreed that some aches and pains come along with the years and carrying around an accumulation of extra butter doesn't help things. A theory was presented: metabolism slows as we grow older because in a natural world where man had to hunt, gather, and grow his own food he naturally slowed down and became less efficient with age. Thus, as his ability to acquire sustenance decreased, so too did his need for it. Now days, of course, french fries and cheeseburgers are pretty easy to come by even for the slowest and weakest of us, so resistance – call it willpower – is our only hope of fitting into our waders next trout season. I'll admit willpower has been at a low point for me this holiday season, and the theory doesn't address the fact that back in that natural world of hunter-gatherer the life expectancy was what, 30?
By the time I had a few piles of wood split up I couldn't feel my fingers anymore and retreated for the house. After my hands thawed I tied up a couple of bobbing baitfish flies for springtime panfish (the bass and walleyes like 'em, too) and watched a video about fly fishing pike in Canada. Neat stuff. Then lunch.
Leftover Christmas goodies – tasty ham, tangy sausage, sharp cheddar and smoked Gouda. PJ brought out some salty chips. And hearty bread. And wine. There must be some vegetables around here somewhere! In a defensive move to distance myself from food I bundled up and was soon out splitting wood again.
I don't put much stock in New Year's resolutions. Maybe I should.