Outside our backdoor

“Why?”
“Because it’s dangerous and sometimes, even when you are super careful, the axe can slip off the side of the log or pieces of wood can go flying though the air, so we need to stay outside the circle when someone is chopping.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what both your grandfather and even his father told me.  We use to go out back when I was your age and chop wood.  They are both named Charles just like you.”
“Oh.” Vince sighs, standing back and covering his ears. Thump.  The axe falls, a log splits and two small pieces fall to the ground.

“I got them!” He scurries to pick up the pieces.

We are out back getting ready for winter on a cold and overcast Sunday afternoon.  It smells like fall and for the first time in a while you can feel the change of seasons.  The salt air that rolls in off the bay is a little heavier today, weighted down by a pending rain.

“Vince, let’s pile these in the basket so we can use the little ones as kindling.”
“Why?”
“Because, it is easier to start the fire with small pieces than with big logs.”
“Why?”
“Because the smaller ones build a good base of coals to keep the big ones burning longer.”
“Oh.” He signs, picking up the pieces and carefully stacking them into the basket one by one.  Thump.  The axe falls, a log splits and two small pieces fall to the ground.
“I got them!”

We don’t chop wood back home.  It comes pre-cut, sorted and stacked from a guy selling wood on Santa Monica Blvd.  I’m not sure we even own and axe.  I realize, standing out back with Vince, just how much I miss it.  I grew up chopping wood and loved the fall ritual on Sunday afternoons.

I can still smell the newly cut logs, hear the sound of the pieces of wood falling to the ground, and feel the small layer of sweat from the exertion.  I remember being the last one outside, shivering in the cold, working in the new fallen snow as darkness fell, cutting and stacking the wood. I can still smell the smoke from the fire, as it mixed with the salt air from the sea.  I remember how cold my fingers were in wet gloves and how warm the house was when I finally surrendered and went inside.

I smile to myself as I drift back and stand around the circle with my father and grandfather.

“Do you want to hold the axe?”
“No thanks.” Vince has been standing and watching my every move for the better part of half an hour.
“Maybe next time.” I offer, and then neither of us says anything for a while.  “Vince, when you swing an axe always remember to keep you legs apart so you keep your balance and the axe can fall right between them if you get lucky and chop straight though.”
“I will, dad.” It starts to rain.  “Dad, it’s dribbling.”
“Just a little.” Thump.  The axe falls, a log splits and two small pieces fall to the ground.
“I have an idea, I will go in and mash the paper for the fireplace.”
“Vince, that is a great idea!” I turn from the past and step towards the future, “let’s both go in, you can show me how to build a fire…”