Where firewood comes from

The Lady is back from Miceland – actually Iceland I was later informed – and did not bring us any mice.  Since MamaLu has taught me that mice live in woodpiles, we have begun a family tradition of unstacking all the firewood, which is very very fun, despite the yelling from the Man. He has to go and restack all the wood and this does not make him happy.

He ordered more firewood in an attempt to overwhelm us with choice, but it was all so well stacked and very high, we haven't figured out how to get to all the juicy mice hidden within. Give us a day or two.

Here's a photo of where the wood came from... apparently the guy we buy from (our "dealer") has a connection up in the woods somewhere where he buys big trees and cuts them down to size.

At least this year we bought firewood before it snowed, lesson learned from last year. MamaLu tells me that laying in front of the fire is one of life's great pleasures... can't wait until winter. It was a brisk 36° this morning, so fall's on the way!