Old School

With all the devices we have available to us these days it has occurred to me that sometimes the old way is still the best.

Several of my favorite things in life could be classed as dated. I begin with cutting my own fire wood, who does that these days? In my street I think but can’t be sure but I’m the only one. The lack of smoke in the evening and the proliferation of the ubiquitous heat pump says it all.

Why? I mean why cut your own wood.  Firstly it’s cheaper just effort verses paying for power it’s a no brainer.

The capital expenditure isn't that large when you off set it with the power cost of the winter. I use an axe, tomahawk, chainsaw, and lately I've added a purpose built hand saw. Total cost $1200 I've purposely purchased top of the line tools as they in my experience last longer and preform to a higher standard. Within one and a half winters the expenditure was recaptured and now years later we are saving money every winter.

 Time is the big barrier here but I do not spend more than two hours at a time collecting cutting or stacking my wood. You don’t cut a year’s supply of firewood in one day you have to work at it over a period of time. Take your opportunities when they come.  The satisfaction of a result from you own labour is hard to measure and that’s why I keep coming back to this task it rewards me for my time and effort. 

It gets me out side and keeps me fit, I don’t know about the pollution but I’m not using any fossil fuel to heat my house. The fire box we use is a double burner so it produces less smoke and burns at a slower and higher heat than an open fire.

Our power bill stays the same winter to summer. We have dispensed with any form of power heater and clothes dryer. My drawing on the national grid is constant throughout the year and not putting pressure on the power system during peak times.  

Ride

I sat drinking a large glass of coffee, I got to thinking why do I ride my bike? I thought back over my mornings ride. I had ridden for over four hours. Out to visit a friend and then back home via a old hill road. The road has a reputation of being the steepest road in my district. True it is steep but that is not what draws me to it. The road winds its way up through native bush . Bush that towers above you and falls away into steep sharp gullies. There is no traffic ever on this road so you can hear the stream rumbling its way down hill far below the road.
This morning it was cold and still, mist hung in the valleys encasing the trees giving them an airy appearance with their midsections disappearing into a white void. Water dripped from the branches lit by the sun and splashed onto the road, that in turn goes from dry to wet and back again . I rode in and out of gloomy corners that wont see the sun all day and the frosty chill hit me in the face making my eyes water uncontrollably. Birds sing above me and occasionally they fly startled by my sudden appearance.

This is why I ride my bike, I could have taken my car and halved my time. I would have missed this world that I accessed by my physical effort, Is  it the action of  working hard to enjoy a return? This is some how hard wired into my Psyche,  for as long as I can remember this has been one of the most simple pleasures I know.

Guardian

A wave of sadness washed over me, the old rugby club rooms looked in need of a coat of paint I doubted they even played rugby here any more. Given I cant stand the bloody game it felt odd.

 My father coached the senior team here 44 years ago, it was a sense of great pride for an 11 year old that his dad was the senior coach.

 I have one vivid memory of my dad playing his last game of rugby one day when the team was short a man.
 I stood on the side line glowing I was in charge of dads note book and the half time water bottles, I cant remember if they won or lost, it wasn't important I was trusted with dads note book, I held it in both hands guarding the teams holy grail, I was trusted, I was the guardian.