Redbank: 1958

Papa knelt before Turkey Creek and lowered his arm and cupped his hand and drank from it while the boy swung the pendular axe by the throat and knocked the arch of his boot with the pole of the axe. Papa opened the pouch of chewing tobacco and pinched it, chewed it and spat then rose and returned to the fell. The boy clasped the saw, moved the choke to half, and drew the cord. The saw fired and surged, and he handed it to his father who set the choke back with his thumb, pinching the throttle, and knelt in the heap of saw chips and cut the wood. He lifted and carried and pitched the logs as Papa partitioned them. When the fell was all cut, the boy asked,

“Papa, may I split the logs?”

“Like I showed you,” Papa said.

His father stood over him while he centered the toe of the bit onto the near ledge of the oak log and spread his feet to shoulders' width. The swell knob rested off the heel of his left palm, and he watched his breath. Then, he wheeled and caught the throat of the handle in his right hand and delivered it in line, letting the weight of the bit crack the log and sink into the chopping block. It was a clean first swing that hurled the halves end over end in the crepitant leaf-litter.

“Nice swing young man.”