On a wintry Saturday morning when we would rather watch cartoons or go tobogganing my siblings and I would be in the back field with Mom and Dad helping ready the fire wood.
Stumps of wood that had been cut and dried the previous season were now ready to be split and stacked. Our job, myself and three siblings, was to transport split logs to the house then stack them properly on the front porch. The four of us, dressed in snow suits and tied up in scarves and toque, would complain. We complained about the cold, about our wet feet and about the shows we should be watching on tv. Of course complaining only made mom threaten “she’ll give us something to complain about if we don’t quit it.” So we piled firewood onto our toboggans, dragged it grudgingly down to the house, then stacked it. Back and forth, up the hill down the hill. Getting colder and colder, wetter and wetter. I remember trying to train the dogs to pull the sleds for us. Never worked.
The funny thing is, as much as I complained about the cold Saturday chore, it is now one of my fondest memories. go figure.