Lumberjill

Fall in South Dakota holds a special charm, especially for a nine-year-old who eagerly awaits the crisp air and vibrant foliage that envelops Ethan. It's a season marked by earthy scents and the rustle of leaves underfoot, making it the perfect backdrop for adventures with my family. Each weekend, we embark on our yearly ritual: a trek to the Jim River, where the shimmering waters mirror the fiery hues of autumn. Armed with a trusty chainsaw and a sense of purpose, we scout for downed trees, remnants of summer storms. As we work, the rhythmic roar of the saw fills the air, punctuated by the satisfying thud of limbs hitting the ground. The tasks are simple, yet filled with camaraderie, as Dad cuts the wood while the rest of us load it into the trailer. The air is fragrant with the scent of fresh-cut wood and our hearts warmed by hard work and the promise of warmth as winter approaches.

After a long day’s labor unloading large logs behind the old garage, there’s a palpable mix of fatigue and satisfaction that settles over us like a well-worn blanket. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue that dances on the weathered surfaces of the garage and the scattered woodpile. Each log, heavy and rugged, tells its own story as we stack them with care, our hands rough but sure. With our backs aching yet fulfilled, we finally bid farewell to the outdoor toil and make our way into the comforting embrace of the house. Inside, the aromas of my mother's homemade dinner greet us like an old friend—fried chicken, fresh garden vegetables, and a steaming pot of mashed potatoes with creamy milk gravy. As we gather around the table, the exhaustion melts away in the warmth of shared laughter and satisfying bites, reconnecting us to the simple joys of family, food, and the rewards of hard work.

While the crisp autumn air settles in and a tapestry of vibrant leaves carpet the ground, Uncle Gus rolls up in his trusty old pickup, the kind that’s seen more seasons than most folks do in a lifetime. He’s got that weathered grin on his face, a twinkle in his eye, and the wood splitter nestled snugly in the back. After the several weekends spent cutting and stacking the wood, the prospect of turning those hefty logs into kindling is a welcome relief. With a grunt he unloads the splitter, its metallic sheen catching the afternoon sun. He exchanges a few words with Dad before he drives off down the alley leaving the rest to us.

Uncle Gus’s wood splitter is a marvel of efficiency and craftsmanship, churning out perfect kindling that’s essential for heating our three-story house during long, cold winters. Dad expertly sets the choke before turning the ignition key of the hydraulic wonder. The splitter whirs to life, effortlessly ripping through seasoned logs with a powerful force that sends fragrant wood shavings spiraling into the air. Each crack and split reverberates like a soundtrack to the changing seasons, as we work together to stack the newly created kindling in neat piles on the west side of the old garage, carefully aligning them to maximize space and accessibility. This ritual not only equips us for chilly winter nights, but it also serves as a cherished tradition that binds our family together, infusing every piece of kindling with laughter, stories, and memories that will last long after the last log has burned. As we organize our little mountain of kindling, the old garage serves as a silent witness, filled with echoes of our shared history, making it the perfect backdrop to our seasonal preparation.

As winter draws near, the days grow shorter, but our family’s spirit remains bright, illuminated by the lingering hues of fall and the newfound promise of warmth stacked high by the garage. Each evening, we gather in the basement near the wood-burning furnace to watch television. With the comforting scent of burning wood wrapping around us like my grandmother's homemade quilts, we watch Captain Stubing guide the Love Boat from Puerto Vallarta to Acapulco.

With the sky outside darkening and snowflakes beginning to dance in the icy breeze, our laughter fills the basement, blending seamlessly with the soft crackle of the logs in the neighboring room. It’s during one of these cozy evenings that Dad decides we must play cards. The mere mention stirs a wave of enthusiasm that sweeps through us like the warmth of the furnace, igniting a spark of playful competition.

In no time, the basement transforms into a hub of anticipation. While Dad and we kids clean off the basement table and find a deck of cards, Mom goes upstairs to make her homemade caramel corn. As we shuffle the cards for the first game, the chatter is punctuated with stories of past victories, close calls, and infamous moments of defeat. It’s not just a chance to play; it’s a celebration of our togetherness.

As the game begins, the atmosphere is electric with camaraderie. The air is filled with playful banter and exaggerated proclamations of future triumphs, while bowls of caramel corn—still warm—circle around the table. What starts as a simple evening quickly escalates into spirited rivalry, as each of us strategically passes the queen of spades to our arch enemy in hopes of securing a victory. As the hours slip by, we forget all about the cold winter night encroaching outside. It feels like the world has paused, and within the four walls of our basement haven, time holds no sway. The laughter rolls on, making each moment precious and memorable.

When bedtime approaches, we clamber upstairs, each of us blissfully tired and content. As we prepare for bed, I catch a glimpse through the window at the world outside: thick blankets of snow now cover the ground, glowing softly under the moonlight. In that serene moment, I realized that winter doesn’t just bring colder nights; it brings us closer together. With our home jam-packed with the kindling we’ve prepared and the spirit we've rekindled through stories and laughter, I’m filled with a profound sense of gratitude. Tomorrow, we’ll face the chill together ready to build new memories, one fire and one night at a time. In this bustling household, love truly is the warmest blanket, and no snowstorm could ever change that.