Growing up in northern Virginia, my father taught me to use an axe. In winter as a boy of 11 or 12, the dog and I’d go into the snowy woods with an axe and some rope, chop fallen branches and tree trunks into draggable size, and head for home for the final chopping. Gave one a sense of accomplishment.
When I was 13 we bought the house 2 doors up the street. We had a big load of firewood in huge chunks. One day I was charged with moving all the firewood up to the new house. The pieces were too big for me to lift into the wagon, so I got out a sledge hammer and a couple of iron wedges and proceeded to split the wood into pieces that I could lift into the wagon and pull up to the new house. So Pop not only got his firewood moved, it was split for him too, by a skinny 13 your old boy.
Fast forward to 4 years ago, when I was visiting Pop was in the hospital. We were talking about anything and everything, and I told this story. Pop's comment was one of his classics, "Builds character!"