May the first be with you

Spring on the farm had been a bit of a tease until yesterday. We were getting ample sunshine to embolden the trees to start leafing, but brisk winds kept me in several layers of clothing when I ventured out. It even got close to freezing a few nights ago.

Yesterday, Random Chance bless it, would have none of that. It was poetic perfection. The wind tacked to tranquil breeze and the temperature temperated — the first divine day of the year. I celebrated by liberating a Modelo beer and listening to some John Fogerty. Rustic Zen.

We all worship in our own way.

I’m reorganizing our woodshed. We will soon start splitting the shitload of red alder a neighbour gave us when she had her property culled. This species of alder is common in the Pacific Northwest, partly because it grows very fast. The sand we brought in for a beach next to our brook would quickly become a forest if we didn’t control the catkins the established alders bombard us with each spring.

Red alder has much value, including medicinal, nutritional and forest remediation. Its sonic advantages makes it a popular choice for electric guitars and basses. Fender uses it for its Stratocasters.

But I digress. Alder burns quickly while giving off a decent amount of heat. The shitload we have has seasoned for about 18 months. I thought we had it properly tarped, but two Canadian winters said “no way”. All of it got soaked. That means that we’ll have to strip off the bark that is already liberating itself and dry the exposed wood.

This is no big deal. In fact, I have done this so much for so long that there is a carpet of bark in front of the woodshed. I’m breaking it into mulch for Jude’s garden. Likewise an old chopping block. It’s great exercise and a great reason to listen to John Fogerty.