I’ve always enjoyed when my kids help me with projects and jobs around the house. My father was the kind who demanded participation in this stuff, but I tried a different approach. I introduced them to house projects with a sense of curiosity and fun and with the idea of teamwork at the forefront. To be totally honest, their desire to pull weeds or scrub dirty window screens was limited. And it’s hard to blame them. In those cases, it’s difficult to get them excited about jobs I barely wanted to do myself.

But for reasons I never fully understood, all three of my kids (ages 5, 7, and 9 at the time) gravitated toward the job of splitting wood. When thesplitting axe,wedge, andmaul came out of the barn, they’d light up and come running. Maybe they sensed the changing season—the cold settling in, holidays approaching, the smell of sweet smoke in the air, ourwood stove heating the house. Perhaps it was the simple rhythm of the work.

Whatever the appeal was, they didn’t need to be asked. As soon as I started swinging the axe, they fell into an unspoken formation—like geese taking on a V-pattern. One kid set the log. One scooped up the split. One stacked the growing pile. For an hour or so, we all worked with purpose, and they watched the results of their labor rise row by row, before the whole thing naturally dissolved into horseplay followed by other interests.

Only years later did I realize how much that time shaped their work ethic. There are few things more gratifying for a parent than watching your children grow into hardworking, capable adults and knowing you planted some of those seeds without even realizing it.

When a log splitter came into my life . . .

Somewhere in those formative years, I bought a brand-newlog splitter. A log splitter is an amazing piece of equipment. Mounted on wheels, it rolls wherever you want to use it. Hydraulics drive the log against a fixed wedge until the wood shears apart. The only real effort on your part is lifting the rounds onto the bed. It’s simple, efficient, and undeniably powerful.

I purchased mine—a Cub Cadet—in early fall of 2012. Two months later, Hurricane Sandy pinned us to our rural New Jersey property for a week, as ash, oak, and maple were dropped like matchsticks across the main road. I’d prepared as best as I could—chainsaw fuel,bar oil,chains, agenerator tune-up—and once the storm passed, I spent days cutting broken trees and running that new splitter.

And to my surprise, I found myself working alone.

While the log splitter made easy work of the cut rounds, it was loud and maybe a little intimidating to the kids. Or maybe they just didn’t see a place for themselves in that process they fell so easily into previously. I wasn’t swinging an axe. I wasn’t showing them how to read the grain or start a wedge in a stubborn fissure. There was no conversation about airflow in a woodpile or why a stack should lean a certain way. There were no anecdotes about my own childhood. All that human connection—the bonding, the teaching—was drowned out by the steady drone of that four-cycle engine and the sight of me, working alone,ear andeye protection closing me off from my surroundings.

Efficiency isn’t everything.

To be fair, it was alot of wood. If I had tackled it with just an axe and maul, I’d probably still be out there today. But I sold that log splitter the following spring. I had no solid reason for selling it. It was a workhorse. I can’t fully explain why I let it go—only that something about using it left me feeling strangely empty.

The answer came to me about a month after I sold it, when Mother Nature dropped a large ash tree into the yard. I jumped on thechainsaw, cutting the tree into rounds. During a minute or two of rest, I had a realization: In the name of efficiency, I had unintentionally removed my kids from a seasonal ritual they looked forward to. I had replaced a shared task with a solitary machine.

So back to the barn I went, gathering up the splitting axe, the wedges, and the maul. I’d like to say they came out to join me, but it didn’t happen. Kids grow. Lives move fast.

That adage about firewood warming you twice—once when you split it, and again when you burn it—is true. Splitting wood with an axe demands full engagement: arms, shoulders, core, legs. You engage directly with the log in front of you. Hand-eye coordination. Good form. That unmistakable sweet spot of forged iron cleaving through wood like it’s water. And with a healthy dose of mindfulness mixed with a bit of good timing, you engage in communication, teamwork, and modeling a work ethic for those you care about most.

My favorite splitting axes and accessories

Swing It All Day

Fiskars X27 36 inch Super Splitting Axe

Now 29% Off

$91 $65 at Amazon

$91 $65 at Walmart$91 $65 at Home Depot

Best For Hardwood

Estwing Sure Split 5 lb. Wedge

Now 36% Off

$25 $16 at Amazon

$25 $29 at Home Depot

Best Head Design

Fiskars IsoCore Maul, 36-Inch

Now 28% Off

$83 $60 at Amazon

$83 $83 at Walmart$83 $63 at farmandfleet.com

Best For Chainsaws

TruFuel Pre-Blended 2-Cycle Fuel 2-Pack, (50:1)

Now 17% Off

$22 $18 at Amazon

Best Chain Oil

STP Premium Bar and Chain Oil 32 oz.

Now 20% Off

$14 $11 at Amazon

Sharp and Durable

KAKEI 18 Inch Chainsaw Chain

$29 at Amazon

Best Hearing Protection

Walker's Razor Slim Patriot Series Muffs

Now 25% Off

$42 $32 at Amazon

$42 $48 at Macy's

Clear and Comfortable

3M Clear, Anti-Fog Safety Glasses

Now 29% Off

$15 $10 at Amazon

$15 $10 at Walmart

Paul Smith

Test Editor

Paul Russell Smith is a former NYC ironworker turned screenwriter (Grace Point) and home renovation specialist. He lives in a crooked old farmhouse in Stockton, NJ, where he’s just as likely to be clearing a clogged pipe as rewriting a third act. When he’s not working, he enjoys hiking, pedestrian beer, and cooking over a live fire. His self-proclaimed spirit animal is the English Bulldog.