As our neighbors say, “all firewood salesmen are crooks,” and it proved true again last week. Several of us went in together to buy a truckload of wood, totaling 6 tareas of wood. What is a tarea? Well, it’s some archaic unit of measure, much like a bushel or cord or rood. I hear it’s a stack of wood one barra by two barras by 18ish inches. Oh, and a “barra” is the distance from your armpit to your fingertip. Regardless, it’s somewhat subjective, as I see it.

Nas Palas, always looking out for us, told us he’d found a deal on firewood, but warned us apologetically that it would be expensive. 250Q per tarea, since it was seasoned and it’s a woodcutter’s market right now. Being big fans of WARM, Emily and I ordered 500q worth without hesitation. We then told Nas Palas he could have half of one of our tareas for the chuj, since they are always letting us bathe in their bathhouse.

We came home a few days later to find a MOUNTAIN of wood at the bottom of the hill. YAY! We were about to run out and be left in the cold, literally. Per local custom, we paid Celia and her kids 30q to lug it up the hill for us to our house. This always makes me feel guilty, like some great white plantation owner, but the fact is… she needs the money. But I always go out and help her carry it anyways, because the fact is… I need the exercise.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, Lina and a half-dozen of the neighbors had already stacked the mountain into neat, measured ricks. People here are obsessed with making sure everyone gets their fair share; no more, no less. Unfortunately, we’d all been cheated, and we were about a half-tarea short in total. Nas Palas shook his head. “Mala gente,” he sighed. He’s such an honest guy, I know he made sure everyone got their wood first, then suffered the loss himself.