White Fir

It's that time of the year again. As my reader knows, I spend most of my free time in October and November foraging on the plateau for firewood. Mostly I manage it, but I'm not always satisfied with the result. Sometimes I spend an inordinate amount of time carrying the wood across three acres of downed brush; sometimes I bring home a truckload of punky junk with all the BTUs of a paper grocery sack; and sometimes I cut white fir in the creek. This week, I've been stuck with all three. I found a pretty good dead tree not too far from the road, but it was leaning over Center Creek. I didn't know what species it was—it can be hard to tell when there are no branches or needles—but I thought I could drop it onto a gravel bar where I could buck it up. Not too many seconds after the chain punctured the bark, I had an answer to both of my questions. If you kick a chunk of bark off the stem of a white fir (Abies concolor), you will find that it has both reddish and whitish coloring. It reminds me of a cross section of peanut butter and jelly. As the first piece of peanut butter and jelly bark flew off the subject tree, my sub-conscious registered "white fir." At the same instant, my sub-conscious registered the lack of resistance on the tip of my bar. POP. The tree simply broke where I was cutting it and sent me running through a thicket of alder and wild rose to get away from the flying butt. The tree missed me, but it didn't miss the creek. When I went back to buck it up, I had to stand in the water. Then I had to carry all those rotten pieces across three acres of alder and wild rose to the Chev. By the time I had a truck load (with all the BTUs of a paper grocery sack), I was so tired that I could barely drive home. Is it normal for a grown man to need a two hour nap each day?