I’ve lost the exact count, but this is the tenth or eleventh year in a row I have lost my struggle to hire somebody to lift all the firewood to spare my wife this work. I consider it difficult, but she thinks it is almost spiritual fun. She loves every log she throws.

I thought I had this one all tied down this year. After pestering her for a week (her wrist has been hurting later), she stunned me by giving in and telling me to go ahead and hire somebody.  I suspect she got sick of my pestering her.

I got right on the phone (okay, I texted, nobody under 40 uses the phone anymore). Our young and robust friend and neighbor Ethan agreed to come over and stack the two cords. He said it would only take him a couple of hours; I told him Maria had surprised me by agreeing.

Her wrist must have heart more than I thought. Ethan said he would come last Friday, but he couldn’t make it. He has a couple of different jobs, and his schedule is rough.

There is a time element here; I can’t order more firewood until this load is stacked, and as the hunter-gatherer of the farm, I have a strict schedule for collecting hay and firewood long before winter strikes.  Ed Bullock needs a lot of advance notice to get his two very good cords here.

I am proud of the fact we have never run out of either. I have urged Maria to let me hire somebody for years, and she always said no.

She was either hurting or swamped with work this year.

Either way, that chance seems to have passed.

She has told me of being weak and indecisive as a child and as a very young woman. I have not experienced this version of her in our friendship or married life.

It’s challenging and often for two strong-willed people to sort out our different ideas and habits and get into a battle of wits. We get on pretty well for two intense, energetic, and stubborn people.

I admit that I love her all the more for her energy, drive, and love of hard and physical labor. And I am not one of those men who thinks he is in charge or ought to be.

I call Maria my Willa Cather Girl even though she is neither mine nor a girl (easy there, feminist PC warriors on social media patrol, stay off your keyboards). The wise thing to do is forget about it and let her stack wood whenever she wants. She will do what she wants anyway.

And she has her ideas about stacking and finds almost everyone else who does it lacking skill and imagination.

She likes doing farm work with the young Amish sisters from Moise’s farm. Perhaps I will try that next time.

Or maybe I’ll just let it go and shut up when the next load comes or when next Spring comes. At least I didn’t bet on this. I know better.

As I write this, I hear that thumping again. She’s at it, even in the rain.

Ethan’s delay was fatal.

Every evening just before dinner this week, I heard the familiar thumping of wood being tossed off the woodpile and hitting the shed floor. That means Maria was stacking the wood. I went out with my camera, and she just smiled at me.

There was no stopping her. Over the past two nights, she’s already moved a third of it, and she says she’ll be done in a week or so. I texted Ethan and told him not to bother.  Only a year away from round 13.