Up until two nights ago, for some time our main wood shed has been full up with this coming winter's wood supply.
Last Tuesday night Papa Pea was in his upstairs office when he heard a strange crashing sound. He thought about it for a couple of minutes and then, sadly, figured out what it must have been.
The upper middle portion of the last tier of wood we had so carefully stacked had fallen plumb out and down. It kind of erupted. Or spewed out.
Ghosties cavorting in the back of the shed? Determined chipmunks building condos in among the wood? A small earthquake way up here in northern Minnesota? Or just faulty stacking by people who shall remain nameless?
We've managed to ignore the situation for a couple of days now, but tonight decided we would deal with it tomorrow.
Just how many times do you have to handle a piece of wood before you burn it? In this case, too many.
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