Now that we've had snow and frigid temperatures, and it's not even Thanksgiving, I'm thinking this will be a good winter to get into the firewood business.
Except that it's real hard work. I know that's a fact from the days many moons ago when my buddy Hog Ears and I sold firewood.
We were living the paradise life in our backwoods bachelor cabin with time on our hands. Both of us broke into a happy dance the day we got laid off for the winter from our jobs at Table Rock State Park. Nothing to do but hunt and fish. That is, when we weren't cutting wood.
Our cabin was cozy, all right, sitting smack dab in the middle of a thousand acres of hardscrabble Ozarks out in the boons. A clear creek flowed right through our front yard. The closest neighbor lived a mile away.
The only heat we had was a fireplace and a wood-burning stove, so Hog Ears and I got pretty handy with a chain saw. We kept the front porch stacked with ricks of oak and hickory, all split by hand. No hydraulic splitter for us, just a 9-pound splitting maul.
A friend asked if we'd cut and sell him a pickup load of firewood, which we did. That friend led to another friend and pretty soon we were in the firewood business.
That was fine with our landlord, Dr. Bill Todd, who back then was president of the School of the Ozarks near Branson. It's College of the Ozarks now.
I lived alone in the cabin at first. Rent was pretty steep. Fifty bucks a month, and I had to keep an eye on Dr. Todd's cattle. When I recruited Hog Ears to move in, that cut it to $25.
Our landlord was the greatest.
"You boys do whatever you want out there." Dr. Todd decreed. "Hunt, fish in the creek, whatever. Just be sure to close the gate."
Whatever included cutting all the firewood we wanted. Hog Ears and I had the run of the place, along with 20 head of black Angus cattle.
Once a month during a wood delivery, we'd stop by Dr. Todd's office at the college to pay our rent. Being in business now, Hog Ears and I always wore our uniforms. Hog Ears liked his Key overalls but I was a Big Smith kind of guy.
We'd stride into the lobby of Dr. Todd's plush office, dirty and our overalls covered with saw dust. There'd always be a couple of guys sitting there in coats and ties waiting to see the college prez.
His secretary had one of those intercom things on her desk. Soon as we'd walk in she'd smile at us, push the button and say, "Dr. Todd, Flip and Mark are here."
With that, his heavy oak door would swing open. "Come on in boys!," he'd holler.
In we'd stroll ahead of the suit guys. Dr. Todd always seemed tickled to see us. Maybe he needed that fifty bucks. Just kidding. He'd always ask how things were going at the cabin, and tell us he'd be living there if it wasn't so far from town. Plus, cabin life might not suit Mrs. Todd.
Back then I figured we were just goofing off for the winter when we were really learning the ways of high finance selling firewood. Warren Buffett would be proud. We had to keep track of expenses, like maul handles. Our aim with the splitting maul wasn't the best until we got the hang of it. We'd swing, miss and another hickory handle bit the dust.
Fast forward decades later, and we're both still burning wood. Hog Ears sent me a photo last week of a fire in the wood stove of a new cabin he just built in Alaska. I've got a good supply laid in at the shack-ri-la in case snow before Thanksgiving means a cold winter ahead.
Flip Putthoff can be reached at [email protected]
Sports on 11/20/2018