Miller's Day
The Comfort of Farm Life
Winters are a season for milling lumber.
It is cold, but logs can often be more easily transported if they are felled not far in the forest, and the snow is not deep and the logging trails are kept open.
Generally speaking, the focus is on deadfall, not live trees. This works well in wooded areas with a significant proportion of hardwoods.
Spring, summer and autumn is time for cultivating grapes and making wine. When the harvest is in and the work load permits, the best is a sabbatical to take care of all the chores left undone during harvest.
This year had been unduly hectic with crises large and small. I am pleased to be alive this winter and enjoying what has passed for a normal farm schedule for a dozen years.
The happenstance has meant no time or strength to mill for almost a year. That means the field mice, in the mean time, have taken up residence inside the mill engine, dragging in shredded cedar to line their nest while droppings and urine accumulate.
It is unwise to run the long-dormant mill, if the battery has not gone dead, until the engine is cleared of debris: if walnut or husks are brought inside and stored, simply turning over the engine, if the flywheel catches a hard nut, it can dislodge the magnets and a costly field repair call is necessary.
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If the miller is strong and in good health, the work hauling logs, squaring them off for boards, and stacking the lumber, is good exercise.
Everything must be in order when a customer makes contact: the tractor; the heavy chains and log arch that lifts heavy timber off the ground on heavy wheels for transport; the pike used to manipulate heavy timber in place; the collection of serviceable chain saws large and small; available sharpened chains to fit same; a work area cleared of wane, the waste lumber of commercial milling activities (end and corner pieces with bark and oddly shaped areas of a trunk trimmed off as not commercially valuable); the mill itself with its sliding and moving parts and the eighteen-foot mill bed looking very much like a heavy steel ladder; the mill engine of about twenty-plus horse power, the same one (Kohler) employed with its crankshaft vertical in heavy zero-turn mowers; and most important of all, a dry place to stack and protect milled boards, planks and beams after cutting; and cover tarps to keep equipment and product in good shape and out of the weather.
Electronic digital moisture meter: almost forgot that.
All of the above assume some degree of mechanical aptitude and a complete set of wrenches, sockets and other tools needed to keep it all running smoothly.
Since the milling business is bespoke-custom, the variety of characters who have visited over the decade of operation, and their projects, are fascinating.
Lightning-struck timber? Sure…
Custom milling of a storm-felled oak trunk planted by George Washington at Mt. Vernon? Of course…
Ash for an Australian customer building a replica Sopwith biplane or another Wright flyer? (Yes)…
Cherry or walnut for a West Virginia gunsmith for an authentic musket rifle stock for a re-enactor? Why not?
The list goes on.
One can always count on the intensely competitive suburban woodworker who has his heart set on an heirloom hand crafted table (or cradle) for his children, but whose desires cannot be supplied by the local big box house and lumber supply.
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It was good to have a day such as this one in late February: warm enough to enjoy the sunshine and dry enough the mud has receded to an acceptable level. That means, enough footing so the tractor does not get stuck somewhere inaccessible.
The best part of the day, however, is after a lovely dinner prepared by a woman who enjoys cooking.
With the snow gone, it is easy to pick up enough deadfall firewood for a few days after the mill is finally repaired. And two weeks earlier than anticipated, a bonus.
The best of all is maple wane and deadfall: it makes for a warm and almost smokeless source of guttering firelight. This is meant to be savored from a favorite rocker, preferably a century and half-old, a discarded antique whose arms have been worn smooth by use, whose green paint is only visible in nooks and crannies, one of whose ash runners was broken, rendering the project perfect for a man with a mill and green ash stock that can be patterned after the surviving runner.
A full belly; a full and productive day in the sunshine, the results of which are a serviceable mill and a clear slate for projects that have been put off a year. The drowsiness of sitting at the hearth, lights off, Handel on the radio in the next room, a cat purring on a nearby couch, the ticking of an old family mantel clock, the pleasant aroma of the charcoal being rendered to a glowing mass...
Life is good.