NEW BERLIN _ ``You ought to get that splitter you had last year,’’ said Uncle Chet, who was carrying the orange chain saw.

``We’ve only got nine logs left,’’ I said. ``I think I can split them if you cut short pieces.’’

``You’ll be sorry.’’ He shrugged, slipped on his earmuffs. Then he pulled the starter cord four times in quick succession before the two-cycle engine began to whine.

The sun was melting the haze at mid-morning when the wood chips began to fly. He sliced most of the way through the thick maple log, then pulled the bar out and began a parallel cut about 18 inches away.

Twelve partial cuts later, we pried under the log with iron bars and rolled the monster over. On this side, the bark was caked with mud, so I cut through the bark with a hatchet, making a clean path between the two ends of his cuts. This exercise I repeated a dozen times, and he followed me down the log with his saw.

About an hour after we started, we had wood ready for splitting.

With all my might, which isn’t much, I swung at the first big cylinder and the mall bounced in my hands as if I’d hit lead. So, I took out a wedge and drove it in with a sledgehammer, while Uncle Chet started sawing the next log.

The wedge did its job, nearly split the stringy plug, and I managed to beat the rest of it into respectable firewood.

But I was already soaked, nearly winded, and that was just the first of 12 cylinders in the first of nine logs.

I got out the wedge again and as I was driving it in, the saw mercifully ran out of gas.

``Having fun yet?’’ Uncle Chet asked.

``You’re right; I should have gotten that splitter, but I’m going to look upon this as an exercise program,’’ I said. ``I’ll do a few every night after dinner.’’

``Might be done by fall,’’ he said as we walked to the shed.

Buddy came gliding out the kitchen door with two glasses of iced tea. Uncle Chet topped off the chain oil, peeled off his latex gloves and took a glass into the shade.

``Filled up my truck on the way this morning, and it was $3.17 a gallon.’’ He sat down on a stump.

``Makes me wonder what heating oil’s going to do next winter,’’ I said.

``The last time gas hit three bucks, people were screaming bloody murder, but this time, not a whimper,’’ he said. ``The big boys have figured out how to make record profits and avoid rebellion. They jack it up a dollar, ease back 50 cents and pretty soon everyone’s forgotten where we started.’’

``People are just trying to stay afloat, get through the week,’’ I said.

``Bet it goes to four bucks this summer, the first time they see a hurricane coming.’’

``I heard milk’s going to four bucks, too,’’ I said.

``And ice cream’s going to four bucks, too,’’ said Buddy, who’d climbed up on a stump next to his uncle.

``Is that so?’’ I asked.

``Charlie said so,’’ the little boy said.

``Ice cream? Now that would be trouble,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``I think we’d better stock up now.’’

Buddy nodded solemnly.

``So, did you see Democrats debate last night?’’ I asked.

``It was awful, something like `Beat the Clock,’ celebrity edition,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``The three rich ones in the middle, flanked by Dodd and Richardson, with Kucinich and Gravel so far out on the wings, they’re almost falling off the stage. And Wolf Blitzer, treating the whole pack like children, telling them to raise their hands if they want to get his attention.’’

``I can’t see Jack Kennedy putting up with that,’’ I said.

``Or Nixon," he said.

``I heard Hillary on NPR this morning, talking about how she wants to make her `dear husband’ a roving ambassador,’’ I said.

``He’s good at roving,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``But that’s the kind of deep question Blitzer comes up with. It’s like People magazine is picking the president these days. To tell you the truth, after I watched that performance, I realized how much we need Al Gore. I only hope he’s biding his time, ready to jump in after we’re had a bellyful of this Roman circus.’’

``He hasn’t said no."

`Who is Al Gore?’’ Buddy said.

``He’s the man who should be president,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``He spoke out against the war before it started. He’s for single-payer health care because the insurance companies are bleeding us dry. He’s a force for the Internet and against global warming, an Academy Award winner and maybe a Nobel Peace Prize winner before the year is out.

``And he stands head and shoulders above the Wal-Mart lawyer,’’ he said, ``head and shoulders above the one-term senator, the ex-senator with the Ken Burns haircut, and that Darth Vader team on the other side.’’

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Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column appears twice monthly.