As it is coming upon March here in New England, we find ourselves looking towards the reserve piles of split firewood that we stacked off to the side so neatly way back in the summer.  With little time to keep up with daily splitting during the sugaring season, these stacks of reserve wood come in handy.  They are nicely stacked--neatly, and in tight rows--as these piles represent the first wood nestled away for the cold season that seemed so far away back in August.  The wood in nicely seasoned and sets ablaze with the mere suggestion of a match.

But, there is something not quite right with this wood.  In fact, it is short.  Very short.  Split too small, and short.  Hmm.  What was I thinking back on those humid summer nights while cutting and splitting this wood? 

Was I so excited to be splitting wood and dreaming of a crackling fire in the wood stove?  Was the sweat that was stinging my eyes allowing the saw to cheat a little?  Did I forget how the larger pieces burn better, longer, and in the end, make for less work?

Whatever the case, I have been thinking deeply on these "Summer pieces" as I haul them in from the stacks each late Winter night.