A Man is Only as Good as His Wood

by Stephanie F. Earls


Every year about this time we get cord wood delivered. We stack it and let it dry over the summer so that by the coming fall and winter the wood will be ready to burn and keep us warm.  For years, as a kid longing to be free, I groaned when the "wood guy" would show up knowing my dad would be telling me to stack. But as I got older things changed and I realized a freedom in the stacking.

In a time of constant change and a world heavy on talk and theory there is something supremely satisfying about having a job to do that gets done.  And what's more, a job so connected to the earth, carrying her gifts for our eventual nourishment.  There is no question whether you are stacking or not. There is no question whether you are holding a log and placing it on the stack. There is no question whether the job is done or not.  It is very, excuse the pun, cut and dry. 

This morning as I stacked in the rain, bird song and water on leaves began to echo in a noise of nature that was so loud it was quiet. I could hear everything and nothing all at the same time, capped with melodic thuds as each log was put in its place. I felt a kinship with nature and our roots as people, imagining and enjoying how primal it feels to carry wood, stack it, set each piece in its place to find stability and organization.  It felt complete, putting effort toward something that will so concretely nurture us in the coming year. I felt connected, it all felt connected.  For all the years I cursed my dad for his "old" ways of heating the house, I have grown to feel gratitude and reverence knowing just like our ancient ancestors, we will have fire: heat and light when we need it, independent of certain modern conveniences. 

It got me thinking about people who dedicate their lives to their work, connected to the earth, and especially the "wood guy," Mike, whose motto I used for the name of this post. I appreciate his combined grounded sense of humor and light heartedness about a job that takes serious work (there's the lesson for us all!). The more ambiguous some relationships, the world or spiritual quests sometimes feel, the more deeply I appreciate that this guy (and anyone who does their work) just does his job. He is grounded, his work stands for itself.  Likewise, the more deeply I appreciate the chance to do jobs like this which are either done or they are not done.

And as I work, the more I realize how deeply our spirit and our growth is connected to what we do, our hands-on experience.  I revel in things that are done when they are done: stacking wood, laundry, cooking a meal, teaching a class. These are the things that seem mundane but are the gateway to the spirit. They are what nourish us. When everything feels like it sucks there is nothing like stacking cord wood in the rain to kick yourself in the ass.  And whether it is stacking wood or doing whatever job it is you do, it's really simple...when you get stuck, do your work...fold the clothes, teach your class, wash the floors, drive your truck, hug your kids (or your wife or friend), write your book, take your run. 

You're only as good as your wood....in other words, do your job.  (I hear you all having fun with this one...) 


There is something to be said for real work: hands-on, concrete, do it or don't do it, work; tied to the earth, connected, grounded, undeniable. This is what keeps us going. It is not theory, it's real. It's prayer in practice, it's meditation in motion. These are the places in our lives, these are the actions that keep us honest, clear our mind and remind us we are alive.  


So, how good is your wood? 

Life: Nature's Way

by Stephanie F. Earls


I have a small wildflower/perennial garden in my backyard which year after year comes back heartier and more lush than I remember, despite my inconsistencies in caring for it. Yesterday I realized I'd never cleaned out the fall debris that settled under snow in the garden: old leaves, dead stems, grass. And it had started to become crowded with weeds and overzealous flowers that were hogging the space. It seemed out of control. So I took to the garden and gave it some attention.

The new foliage disguised the depth of dead crap at the base of each plant. The mess was compounded by weeds and clover that were overtaking much of the garden. As I started to weed and lift the "crap" out with my hands I was overwhelmed by how much of this damp, dead stuff was sitting there, and in awe that the flowers did not suffocate.  With each space cleared I appreciated that regardless of the mess, this garden burst through into life. Nothing short of a miracle.  And just nature's way: life.


Nature is resilient. Nothing will stop life from pushing through and making its way to do what it is supposed to do this time of year: bloom.  Growth did not stop because I forgot to make room in the fall. The plants did not cling to their old stems even though I left them there.  There was no debate on growing or becoming stagnant. The garden just kept living and even started to turn the "dead" stuff into new nutrients. 

With it cleaned out it stands a little brighter, seems lighter. It's easier to see and appreciate each flower for itself instead of the wild mess it was becoming.  I am not sure it matters to nature. Perhaps I helped it along, but nature found its own way long before I came on the scene. It's a good reminder.  Some say let nature take its course. Like everything else, maybe just find a balance, a little cooperation, a little co-creation between ourselves and nature.

We grow with the same miracle in us, with a drive toward life, toward rebirth, toward finding our way through crap even when it's literally blocking our way, toward turning death, staleness and overgrowth into a chance to nourish ourselves.

When things feel like they are out of control or covered in crap, think of a garden, of nature. Remember life will find its way.  And if we want to help it along, we can bring it our attention. We can clean out the old so we have room to breathe. We can weed out the things that are overwhelming us so we have some space to see clearly.  We can nourish ourselves. We can choose life.