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Ray Wirth of Monroe is a retired teacher and Registered Maine Guide.
It was 11 degrees below zero on a recent morning in the hills of midcoast Maine. I added three logs to the woodstove, which emanated a cheerful saffron warmth.
The main room of our house also has a heat pump and a propane heater, but the woodstove outshines them in BTU output and comfort. Among the three, only one continues to warm us when the power goes out. Our woodstove truly is security.
20,000 lbs of firewood. Over five months. That’s what I lug up the full flight of stairs to our main living space. Before that, I handle each stick of wood three times (first, into the wheelbarrow; second, to stack it; and third, to sled it to the doorstep), and then a fifth and final time to load it in the stove.
All told, that’s like lifting 25 mid-size sedans. Bit by bit by bit.
It’s a labor of love that allows us to live in this log home with its vaulted ceiling, tall windows, and woodsy views. It’s the kind of thing people in Maine do to live where they do. Not because it’s easy or convenient, but because it makes sense on many levels.
Wood can be the most economical way to heat a home in Maine. It’s also good for national security, as it reduces U.S. dependence on foreign oil.
In past decades, I annually cut five cords of wood from our own 10 acres. I’d lug the wood back to the yard and split it with a maul — before handling it those five additional times. I’m now on the back side of 60, and trying to reduce the number of things that get me that look of chagrin (“You were doing what?”) from my chiropractor.
The problem is that many others have made the same calculation. Even younger Mainers are choosing jobs that are less physically demanding.
The result is that even though ours is the most forested state in the nation (90 percent in tree cover), firewood is expensive and hard to find.
This is not a new problem, as for decades now, Mainers have increasingly chosen less physically demanding careers. What’s new is the trade war with Canada and the fact that the availability of foreign workers has been inconsistent. In short, the Trump tariffs and worker-related policies have reduced the supply of firewood and increased its price, making us less secure.
I sit here in midwinter and wonder if firewood will be available five years from now. What will the stance toward foreign workers and immigrants be then? Who will cut our firewood? Who will deliver it? How much will the price increase?
The federal enthusiasm for imposing tariffs, cutting ties with other nations, and disrespecting their people doesn’t make it easier to bring in foreign workers. Nor does allowing for racial profiling, sweeping up both legal and illegal foreigners in ICE raids, and limiting work visas. All of these conspire to make foreign workers less likely to end up working here. If they have a choice, why would they want to? Why wouldn’t they go somewhere else?
This firewood story shows that security doesn’t always come from being tough. It comes from admitting dependencies, finding ways we can work together for mutual benefit, and playing nice with our friends.
When it comes to security, we have a choice.
We can pound our chests, crow about self-reliance and “America first”— and go to war for overseas oil. Or we can admit the truth of our interdependence, be good friends to our neighbors, and make our foreign workers feel welcome and appreciated. What a concept: That we can increase our security by demonstrating kindness and a little human warmth.