From the Feb. 17, 1961 edition of the Vineyard Gazette:

It is only a few years passage back to the day of solid fuel. Coal was principally used for all heating purposes for years before oil became usual. But it is far longer since wood was used for heating homes and public buildings such as churches and assembly halls, and thus it is that the wood-lot of tradition has disappeared.

It has vanished so completely that only the experienced eye can now determine where the last firewood was chopped, because the new growth has developed to a size that conceals all signs of wood-chopping save an occasional telltale stump. The stump now bears its new and well-developed tree, twenty-odd feet of black oak, but that thick bole cannot entirely hide the curiously-bulged stump which once supported a far larger growth.

Sixty years ago there were many wood-lots. Not all families owned them of course. Even in wood-burning days there were people who were obliged to purchase their fuel. Some were village, even city-dwellers, who experienced no hardship in finding the price of a cord of wood. Others had to count their pennies, and even at less that $5 a cord, must plan before they replenished their fuel supply.

But back in the open country, upon the farms, there were wood-lots, many wood-lots where the cordwood was chopped, the “long-wood” and “trash-wood” was trimmed out, and even the big chips, white or red and brown, depending upon whether the trees were white or black oak, were collected and carted home.

Anyone who, as a child, recalls the wood-lot will agree that it was a fascinating place. There were the standing trees, oak, chiefly, some swamp maple, occasional hickory, and even less frequently, a pine or twisted cedar. Between grew the smaller growth, tall, slender, birches, blueberry bushes, and into the tops of some of these the trailing vines of the fox-grape knotted their tendrils to support the long, thick column that festooned to the ground below.

Seen in summer the wood-lot was visited more often than one might think, these standing trees were heavy with foliage and the ground below was deep in shade. Nearest these standing trees was the area chopped over during the winter before. Thickly dotted with new sprouts, green and red, from the stumps, and between them stood cord and half-cord stacks of wood, carefully piled between braced stakes and measured all ways for sale on the spot.

Here and there also were the low piles of “long-wood” so-called, limbs too crooked for cordwood, or too slender, and thus left double the length of a cordwood stick for easier and faster handling, and here also was the trash, the very slender limbs, crooked, covered with knots and the shark butts of twigs chopped off. This was “summer” wood, providing a quick, hot fire for cooking, but one that would quickly burn itself out if not constantly fed. The wood-lot owner graded his wood in this manner, and took due advantage of its various qualities.

Nobody knows when wood-chopping time arrived. Certainly that’s the way it appeared. Apparently a man had to “feel” it. Came a morning that was cold, perhaps cloudy or clear, perhaps windy or calm, and the wood-lot owner would pick up his sharp axe and head for the wood-lot. If he knew why, he did not state the reason for his selecting this particular day.

There were reasons, however, for watching the wind. Twisted or leaning trees fell best if the wind favored the falling. Otherwise, weather was not important. Some men seemed to love wood-chopping best if the snow was a foot deep. Others preferred bare ground, but all of them seemed to enjoy the chopping.

Perhaps the ancient reason held good. The adage states that firewood warms the wood-chopper twice, once when he chops it and again when he burns it. Those wood-choppers were well warmed on both occasions and there was a curiously pleasant satisfaction in a wood fire even when it was burning in a kitchen range or an old, cast-iron wood airtight. The pleasant, spicy odor of burning wood was in the air, it wasn’t smoke, but circulated in the same manner as the flavor and savor of a roast fills the kitchen.

There was comfort too, in owning a wood-lot, and in the knowledge that a goodly supply of wood was already chopped and stacked. Even if it had not yet been carted home, it was pleasant to know that it was there. There it might remain for months if not needed or sold, for nobody stole firewood, strange as it may seem. But of course, the satisfaction was even greater if there was an ample supply sawed, split and stacked in the woodshed where it was sheltered from the weather.

For on certain calm, but cloudy winter evenings, when a chill was felt in the air, the comforting wood fire would sometimes appear to pause in its steady crackling, and instead would emit a low but audible sound like: “Shussh!” It was then that the eldest member of the family would say: “Snow!”

Compiled by Hilary Wallcox
library@vineyardgazette.com