I’m still in the mode of refusing to put on pants, allowing a sense of righteousness to fuel my recalcitrant tendencies, feeling moderately secure in the knowledge that it’s still legitimately summer until September 21. The back burner stress that is a result of not enough cords in the woodshed will keep me warm, a low level hum that resonates a lack of felled trees in my fall. When visiting friends, I experience what must be known as ‘wood envy’, aka a lack of bucking, upon glimpsing satisfyingly stacked and terrifically tetris’d layers of insurance against the winter to come.