So, the woodpile was looking a bit sad, you know? Getting low. And with the evenings starting to get that little nip in the air, I figured it was time. Didn’t need a massive amount, just a good old half rick. Enough to keep things cozy without breaking my back or the bank. Simple, right? Well, you’d think so.
The Great Wood Hunt
First off, finding someone who sells a half rick can be a bit of a palaver. Most of these outfits, they wanna sell you a full cord, or nothing. I made a few calls. One fella, bless his heart, sounded like I’d woken him from a month-long nap. “Half a whatnow?” he mumbled. Clearly not my guy. Another place I called, the prices were just nuts. You’d think the wood was gold-plated.
It’s always a bit of a gamble, getting firewood. You never quite know what you’re gonna get. I remember this one time, years ago, I bought a load that was supposed to be “seasoned.” Seasoned, my foot! It was so wet, it hissed more than it burned. Smoked up the whole house. The wife wasn’t too pleased, let me tell you. Ever since then, I’m a bit more particular.
You run into all sorts when you’re looking for wood:
- The “premium” dealer whose wood costs more than a steak dinner.
- The “it’s mostly seasoned” guy, which usually means it sat outside for a week.
- And the classic “I’ll get it to ya sometime” fella who operates on his own peculiar schedule.
It’s a journey, I tell ya.
Getting the Goods
Anyway, after a bit of asking around, I found this old-timer. Real character. Had a small, no-frills setup, just piles of wood and an honest face. Said he could sort me out with a half rick, no problem. Music to my ears. So, I hitched up the trailer and trundled over there. The wood wasn’t all perfectly cut and stacked like you see in fancy magazines, just good, honest hardwood. Mostly oak and a bit of maple, looked like. Solid stuff. He even gave me a hand loading it, though his grimaces told me his back was giving him what-for. We had a bit of a chat. He was saying how folks don’t appreciate good firewood anymore, how everyone wants things instant. Can’t say I disagree entirely.
The drive home was slow and steady. Didn’t want my precious cargo bouncing out. Once I got back, I tipped the whole lot onto the driveway. Always looks like more of a mess than it actually is, a big jumble of logs.
Stacking it Up and Final Thoughts
Then came the real work: stacking. It’s a bit like a puzzle, finding the right piece for the right spot, making sure it’s stable and there’s enough air flow. Took me a good few hours, that did. Sun was beating down, sweat dripping. My back was complaining a bit by the end, but there’s a certain satisfaction to it, you know? Transforming that messy pile into a neat, sturdy stack.
It reminds me of this job I had donkey’s years ago. My boss then, a real tyrant, he was always on about “efficiency” and “streamlining,” but mostly it meant cutting corners and making us do twice the work for half the recognition. One day, after a particularly rotten week dealing with his nonsense, I came home and just started splitting and stacking a load of wood I had. Worked ’til I couldn’t lift my arms. But you know what? All that frustration just melted away. There’s something honest about physical work, about seeing a tangible result. No corporate double-speak, no pointless meetings. Just you, the wood, and a job done.
So now, I’ve got my half rick, all tidy and ready. It smells good, that dry wood. And there’s a real peace of mind knowing it’s there, ready for when the cold really sets in. It’s not just about the heat, it’s about that feeling of being prepared, of doing something yourself. Better than relying on some faceless corporation for your comfort, if you ask me. A simple thing, a half rick of wood, but it feels good. Real good.