Getting ready for winter in the mountains north of Spokane means cutting, splitting, and stacking firewood. Lots of it. A good friend of ours delivered a couple cords already cut to size. All I had to do was split it and stack it.
Even though, at 62, I'm a bona fide geezer in training, I'm more than capable of doing the work. Thanks to a fussy disc in my lower back, however, I can't do it for more than an hour at a time. If I push it, that disc kvetches and complains for the next several days. So far, I've split about half the pile, but was holding off doing the stacking. One task at a time, right? Well, that's where the love comes in.
I left for work this morning with a mound of split wood ready for stacking. When I came home, I found that a couple of dear friends (of the nameless variety) had stopped by to bless Mary and me. Everything I had split to that point was stacked in our woodshed, ready for the winter.
I may never know who they were or what motivated them to stack my wood, but I know what love looks like, and that was it.
