For the last ten or so years, I’ve helped my father bring in his winter wood.  He and Uncle Bob cut and split it over on The Farm and then they bring it home in Uncle Bob’s old dump truck.  Uncle Bob always used to dump it at the end of the driveway.  On “bringing in the wood” day, I would load the wood into a wheelbarrow, then wheel it across the back yard and around the corner to the side cellar window.  My father would be waiting there and would unload the wheelbarrow and throw the wood into his wood room.  We used two wheelbarrows and developed a rhythm and a routine.  Very little time was wasted.

My last memory of my Uncle Richie was on “bringing in the wood day.”  He lived up the street and he came down and sat a spell.  He admonished us for working too hard at “our age.”  We kept on working and talking with him.

Of course, Uncle Bob could have just dumped the wood on the front lawn, which would have eliminated all the handling and wheeling, but my father and I have always enjoyed the annual ritual; we’re kind of competitive and we like to see how quickly we can get it done and how many loads it takes to fill the wood room.

It’s great exercise.

This year, something changed and my father decided Uncle Bob should dump the wood on the front lawn.  There would be no “bringing in the wood” day.  The Motel would be closed, too.  For a split second, I had that sinking feeling similar to the day I found out Uncle Bob had sold my tractor.  One of my Facebook friends posted about bringing in her wood.  Finally, my brother wrote a blog post about his wood stacking day.

I had to wipe a little tear from the corner of my eye because everyone was hauling wood except me.

It makes more sense the way it worked out.  Even Uncle Bob said so and he didn’t understand why we hadn’t done it that way to begin with.  He thought one of my parents was worried about his truck damaging the lawn.  My father just had his driveway re-paved so now the driveway is more important than the lawn.

That’s another story, though.

I looked at the index card my mother had given me a few weeks ago; on it, she had outlined the Motel’s availability.  The Motel will be open on November 10, 2012.  Helen’s note says “Leaves.”

Hauling leaves requires tools, containers, and intricate machinations; Herman has already figured out the most efficient way to do it.  It’s not the same as bringing in the wood, but I’ll take it.

I love working with my dad.

I wonder if my brother has a leave-raking blog post planned.  We’d better get our stories straight.