Splitting Logs
We have a lot of leftover wood from when they cut our elm tree down last year. It all sits in a huge pile on the back edge of our property. The pile is an eyesore, and despite the fact that Maxine and Linus both enjoy climbing on it, I resolved that the pile had to go.
Easier said than done. For one thing, these logs are in many cases still rather large. I would call most of them “stump sized”. For another, there are a lot of them. It was, after all, a fully-grown elm. I vaguely knew that I could go rent a hydraulic log-splitter and get the job done all in one day. But I don’t have a trailer jack on any of my cars, so that seemed like a pain in the ass. Plus, I felt like that was the easy way out.
Finally, after a year of that wood just sitting there, I got up and did something about it. I bought a maul, a sledgehammer and a wedge. In case you don’t know what a maul is (I didn’t till about two weeks ago), it’s like an ax, but it’s very heavy and is designed specifically for busting up wood. Initially, I thought an ax-like implement was all I was going to need, but that turned out to be very wrong.
See, I don’t have much experience with splitting wood. In fact, prior to this weekend, I had never successfully done it. My only previous wood-splitting attempt came in high school, when one of my teachers named Barb Chamberlain asked me if I could drop by her house and split some wood for her. I liked her, said “No problem.” Well, I get there, she shows me the wood and the ax, and walks back inside. She just assumes I know how to split wood, and up till that moment I honestly never considered that it would be a big deal. But once I’m there looking at these thick logs and holding a damned heavy ax, I realize I don’t have any clue what to do. Concentrating hard and entering a trance-like state, I channel everything I know about log splitting from sources like Grizzly Adams and Little House on the Prairie.
I realized then all I knew about log splitting was this:
Stand the log on end.
Hit the fuck out of it with the ax.
The log explodes into two pieces.
Yep, that pretty much sums up how I had seen it happen on TV. So I pick out my first log, set it down on the ground, and windmill that ax down into it as hard as I can. But instead of exploding into pieces, the log instead emits a dull thudding sound as my ax sinks into it. I had managed to hit the log hard enough to make the blade difficult to dislodge, but there certainly was no splitting action. Eventually I got the blade out, hit the same log about 10 more times with similar results, and left having split not a single log. I considered that a good outcome, though, because by all rights I really could have injured myself very badly through bad technique and a lack of form.
For some reason, with that portfolio of log splitting experience, I decided I was going to split up about 2,000 pounds of logs. But I had now two advantages on my side. The first was about 20 more pounds on my frame and increased strength. The second was the knowledge that you just can’t split wood without a wedge or spike. That maul can help me with some woods or logs when they are partially split already, but the real work was going to be done by a heavy spike and a heavy sledgehammer. (I hope my mention of a sledgehammer causes you to get the Peter Gabriel in your head, and out of mine.)
Since I didn’t have the maul, spike or hammer, I had to go buy them. That was fun. People give you a real wide berth when you’re walking through a store with an ax and a sledgehammer. Especially if it’s a jewelry store. But alas, I was only at the Home Depot. The real highlight of the shopping trip was choosing my wedge. I could choose the boring generic steel wedge, or I could go with a special golden multi-pronged device called the Wood Grenade. It looked like some implement of torture Goldfinger might have wanted to use on James Bond, but that’s not why I bought it. I bought it because it’s called the Wood Grenade. BAM!
Long story short, it took me awhile to get the technique and the logistics of the log splitting down. First I had to secure the log I was striking. Then I figured out I needed to move my striking log off the wet, damp grass and onto a cement patio. Then I had to get the right height, and then I had to get the right rhythm. And of course, I had to actually hit the spike square on. There was much learning to be done.
At last, however, I took a mighty swing at a log that had been placed at the perfect height, and had been braced to stay securely in place. And I grew so confident in my ability to hit the spike that I threw all of my weight into the arc of the sledgehammer over my head. The result was a spectacular explosion that sent two pieces of wood rocketing out in opposite directions. The Wood Grenade had arrived! And best of all after the target log had been blasted away all that remained in the middle of the platform stump was the spike, wedged over an inch into the wood.
It’s hard to explain why something like that feels so good, but it does. There’s a visceral pleasure to it, but there’s also an idyllic one too. What better way to spend a mid-October weekend with the air turning and the leaves hitting the ground than splitting some logs? Soon after I got the hang of it, I found that I couldn’t stop splitting logs, and would relent only when my lower back was too exhausted to maintain my form.
I’m telling you, splitting logs is addictive once you get the hang of it. Which is great for me, because even at this rate I still have a year’s worth of splitting to do.
To steal a line from our soon-to-be ex-President: Need some wood?
12:09:54 AM 
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