An ode to firewood.

I really, really like chopping wood.

It's astoundingly therapeutic, a raw physical chore that is cathartic in its simplicity. Here you are, a person with a tool, imposing your will on nature. You lift, your muscles work, and you're left with something useful. The axe sings through the air, there's a wonderful ka-chunk! and the log is cleanly sundered, opened to its white insides as the axe buries itself in the stump.

This is, quite obviously—and those of you with delicate sensibilities may choose not to read on—vaguely sexual, only more so because of the running dialog I have with the wood I'm chopping. "Oh, so that's how you're going to be," I say when the axe gets stuck in the wood, grunting to remove it. And then I place it back on the stump and grimly promise it, "You're giving it up to me." Then, when I neatly split it: "You like that? I bet you like that." I am a firewood rapist.

As you can see, I like chopping wood so much that all I think about while chopping wood is how much I like chopping wood. It's the subject of my upcoming book: Choppin': The Aaron Retka Story. It's sad that in today's hectic world, with its Pac-Man video games and laser-disc players and electronic mail, there's little career opportunity for a man that loves to chop. Let's move on.

It's warming up out there and is really quite a nice day. I got the drive plowed by a very nice man from Becker's Resort, who shrugged off payment. "Just come by next time you're up here," he said.




While building the fire, I reached into the metal bucket that once, 20 years ago, held fundraiser popcorn (butter, cheese and caramel, if I'm not mistaken, each in their own little compartment) but now holds paper for starting fires, and came across the Variety section of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune. From Sunday, July 5, 1987.




In it, there's a big food piece on blueberries, plenty of advice columns (did you know that Mister Rogers had a column?) and this little blurb by a guy named Al Sicherman, which I repeat verbatim:

There's no end, apparently, to the endless variety of new snack products. Take, for example, "New York Style Pita Chips." Or don't; I won't be offended. The toasted chips of pita bread come in the four flavors shown here (onion, garlic, whole wheat and plain). What, you might ask, makes a pita chip "New York style"? Are there colorful vendors of hot pita chips wandering the streets of Manhattan? Are there bowls of free pita chips on the bar in neighborhood joints in Brooklyn?

I'm not sure why, 22 years ago, Al Sicherman was so offended by the idea of pita chips, but he does go on. He's the Rich Tosches of food-related indignation! There's also the headline "Picnic is a great time to try new foods" and a bridge column. I was hoping for TV listings so that I could see their synopsis of the next upcoming episode of Falcon Crest, but no luck there, unfortunately.