Where I live there is truly nothing more exhilarating or
more beautiful than a drive on a fall day!
Pickup trucks laden with year aged wood and coal meander
throughout the farm lands kicking up fallen leaves that shimmer in the sun like
dry confetti.
Wood piles and Coal piles abound screaming self-sufficiency,
and everyone really begins gearing up for the ‘Great White Days’ that surely
lay ahead of us. A friend of mine has a
cast iron stove that burns both wood and coal.
He’s only burned wood for the last few years but in his workshop under
his house dry and out of the weather lays his version of ‘Black Gold’. His Coal Keep waits. He claims that with the price of oil and the
uncertainty of the utilities grid, this cache is like Money in the Bank…He is
right.
There is something truly timeless about the sound of the
metal coal shovel. Like the strike of a
match it is a sound rhythmic, sensible, and necessary. A ringing announcement of seasonal
change. It is a scientifically proven
fact that humans respond to the changes in temperature and light that each
season brings – but I believe we also respond to the preparation and habits of
each season. Bedding down living
quarters and preparing for the long haul indoors. Down comforters come out, firewood comes in. Stew pots and roasting pans get a rinse. Sweaters stand at the ready. We become…cozy.
My father had a work buddy who grew up in a very depressed
area of Pennsylvania. There was a train
that would labor through their town carrying tons and tons of coal from the
minds across the land toward the cities.
As the trains would rumble by, the cars would shimmy from their loads
and shiny rocks of coal would fall along the tracks haphazardly. Folks would send their children to wait with black
buckets in hand. As the trains passed
they would scramble and scavenge the coal for small stoves back home.
Coal burns efficiently and a properly banked coal fire will
carry the house through the night until the dawn. A sound sleep not broken by the vigil that a
wood fire would require.
For my people, coal is in the blood. My grandfather, James Loggie, was sent down
into the coal mines of Scotland (the Old Country) when he was a boy at the
tender age of 12. Crawling through the
earth. Hard and scary labor. When my own boys each turned 12, I told them
the story of his hardship and silently sent up a prayer of thanks that they had
been spared that life. While working one
day, my grandfather (a boy) experienced a serious collapse in one of the
mines. Twelve year old James had to
scrape and crawl through a black tunnel the size of a small television screen
to undusted air and freedom.
Family history has it that it was that day, that moment, and
the chain of events that followed that massive cave-in that fanned the flame of
James’ desire to get out of the mines for good.
A few years later he was off to America.
He went on to father eight children, 2 babies born in the Old Country –
one still buried there- and 6 in the New Country. Many grandchildren and great grandchildren
and now great great grandchildren are with us.
None of them are miners.
When I was a young child my father paid an out of work mason
to give us a beehive fireplace with a wall hearth. The price seemed low but the man was grateful
for the work that would carry him through the winter. He used recycled bricks left over from a job
he had torn down. What he created was a
lovely cottage type hearth with bricks of red white and black. My brother and I would help make paper logs
as starters. My grandparents would come
to visit. James was then an old man, no
longer the boy of 12 but he would inevitably tell the story of the coal mines
as we sat around the warmth-one of my favorite childhood memories. A roaring blaze would ensue, filling the air
with its dry woody scent and musical random crackles and pops. Most of the burning logs came from trees that
were cut down in our own yard. Two huge oaks that were on the decline were felled in our yard and my brother and I spent many an afternoon climbing through the tree tops that lay on the ground. Lofty branches...we explored what only the sky had seen for @ least 50 years. We felt majestic.
Recently there was a skill set I discovered in a small old
incidental book. ‘Keeping a Wood Lot’. Apparently, back in the day, before cheaper
fuel (ha-ha) was discovered and suburbia became an epidemic, The Wood Lot was
an exact science. Wooded lots would be
kept (many times attached) to the property a home was on. They could range in size from a couple of acres
to ten. These lots would hold a variety
of trees, wild brush, and saplings. The
owners would harvest trees based on age, size, and condition. When harvested systematically in this nature,
a wooded lot would perpetually provide a family with fuel wood. These gardens of fuel were highly valued and
many times were bequeathed upon the owners’ death.
A secondary benefit to this land would be the safe refuge it
provided for small game hunting. Animals
could reside and breed there then be trapped or hunted as needed. A live pantry of meat and fur among the
means for heat and wood. Not to mention
the wild edibles that could also be foraged. A perfect enclosed system of renewable
sustainability…right in your own backyard!!
Makes perfect sense to many.
In a world of economic uncertainty there seems to be a growing awareness
of working hard for oneself and one’s family.
Should the chain of supply falter, you will not freeze with a source of
alternative heat. You will not starve if
you understand and recognize the ability you hold to provide some or all of
your own food.
There is a definite vibe, a shift in perception. In a time
of financial horror stories, evaporating stock options, corporate downsizing,
greed, and political blame gaming, more Americans are becoming…well…stronger
Americans. Somehow they are dusting off
that intangible strong will that has gotten us this far. We may be down, but we are not out! Americans everywhere are bootstrapping it
with that can-do-will-do-must-do attitude that made us great. They are believing more in themselves and
their own abilities. They are taking the
steps to become more self and local community sufficient. They are moving toward a life of relying less
on the ‘system’ and more on themselves.
And who could blame them?
Hang
your flag and get back to basics! We can
do this people…We are doing it!
