Looks like a lot of work, but very nice.
Years ago, in 1987, my first wife and I moved to eastern Oregon, out in the middle of nowhere, to a town called Troy. The inn we ran had a wood-burning fireplace, and one of the local loggers brought a bunch of rounds to use as firewood. He bet me I wouldn't have them split in a week (there was about two cords worth), as since we moved there from the coast he thought he was dealing with a city boy. I bet him a half-gallon of whiskey that I would. He took the bet. The next day when he got off work, there was all his wood split and stacked. He asked me what I drank, and the next time I saw him he brought me a half-gallon of Jim Beam.
Of course, I was 28, and I don't think I could do that now. Now I'd hire some kid to do it!