Winter doesn’t end all at once. It fades reluctantly, like it’s got unfinished business. Snow still clings on in patches, the ground is soaked through, and every step sinks just enough to remind you that spring hasn’t fully earned its place yet.
But something shifts. You feel it before you really see it. The stillness of winter gives way to movement, and suddenly there’s work everywhere you look.
This past winter was a lesson in patience, but not always a productive one. A lot of it was spent feeding the fire, shoveling snow, and watching the days pass. Necessary, yes. But there’s a difference between enduring a season and building something from it. That difference starts to weigh on you after a while.
So when the thaw finally came, I didn’t ease into it. I gave myself a problem to solve — eight tonnes of wood sitting in the driveway, blocking everything, waiting to be dealt with.
It hadn’t been the plan. One load earlier in the winter came and went quickly enough, burned through faster than expected. The next delivery didn’t go so smoothly. The truck got stuck, the driver dug himself halfway to China trying to get out, and in the end I told him to just dump it and be on his way.
Seemed like a small decision at the time. It wasn’t.
That pile sat there for weeks, quietly becoming inevitable.
The only real solution was to build a holzhausen — a proper wood stack, circular, self-supporting, something that actually works with the elements instead of against them. Not just clearing space, but doing it in a way that sets up the months ahead.
And that’s the difference now. The work isn’t just reactive anymore. It’s deliberate.
There’s something satisfying about that shift. Even if it means a full day of lifting, throwing, stacking, and figuring things out as you go. Even if your back reminds you of it with every movement.
Piece by piece, the pile started to disappear. The shape took form. What was a problem became something useful, even something that looked half decent standing there in the yard.
Not perfect. Not even close. But solid.
By the time the light started fading, the driveway was clear. That alone felt like a win.
There’s still more to do. There always is. Leftover wood to stack, seedlings to start indoors under those pink grow lights you see glowing in windows, a greenhouse frame waiting to be finished. The season doesn’t slow down once it begins.
But that’s the point.
Winter is quiet. Spring demands something from you.
And after months of standing still, it feels good to answer.
