THE HITCH The quest for the holy cord
(Page 2 of 2)
December/January 1991
By Mike Drummond
My wrists and lower back gave out about the time the blisters on my palms broke, which was right after I split my last cribbing log. Three days and some massage therapy later, I regained the use of my back and hands. With a stiff finger, I dialed up my neighborhood expert to keep him current on the firewood situation.
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"Get yourself a hydraulic splitter, son," he drawled. "I'd lend you mine, but you know how it is with lending tools to neighbors." Yes, I knew.
Seeing as I had 10 times more wood to split and no energetic teenage son to send out there to do it, I headed out in search of a log splitter.
For the cost of a dozen cords of seasoned oak-delivered, split, and stacked at my doorstep-I could purchase a lightweight log splitter. The salesman assured me that it would last a lifetime, which gave either me or the splitter at least a 10-year life span since my family only burns about a cord a year. He wanted me to consider a small tractor to haul the splitter to job sites on my property, and a trailer to haul the finished product back to my house. I would need to pay extra for warranties, insurance on everything, and maintenance agreements since I'm not mechanically inclined. Oh, and I'd need a new $50 trailer-hitch assembly for my truck to haul all the new toys home, where I knew I'd have to spend several weekends building a new storage shed to house all this laborsaving stuff. I made a mental note to leave room in the new shed for the Rototiller I needed for my garden. Suddenly, firewood preparation was going to cost me more than my entire college education. Dazed and babbling, I begged the salesman for a moment alone with my checkbook.
Well, following much soul-searching and gnashing of teeth, I did it. I wrote him a check... for a whopping $50.
Then I swung by the local rental yard and towed home a rented log splitter on my brand new trailer hitch.
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