Wood
Heh, that’s me. What is it about dragging seasoned old logs with bugs under the bark into your house that is so satisfying? It’s gotten cold, and it is going to get colder, and I have three days to spend in my very own house (I’m not always here), and I’ve just got to burn wood. The upstairs stove is small, working well, and there is enough cleared space around it to be safe. But the downstairs stove is the one I really need to use–it is much more efficient and will burn the big logs that are left. I’ve burnt up all the little stuff in the little stove. I just have to spend an afternoon in the basement clearing away STUFF in order to start it up. If I stoke the downstairs stove right, it holds until morning. Oh, the satisfaction in that! It’s like winning the first set! Last night Jerry and I had dinner (barbecue), then went our separate ways to our remote homes where we both burn wood. I didn’t come home to a fire (I’m so grateful for my heat pump), but he had to call me after 11:30 p.m. to let me know that he still had good coals after 18 hours and then brag a little on the merits of a Fisher. He also said he wanted to make sure I got home safe, God love him, so I won’t say that it was only the bragging rights that compelled him to call. Now, after errand running in Richmond and a little internet time at the library, I’ll head back to Kelley Ridge to clear a space, load up a wheel barrow full of wood, and build a fire that will hopefully see me through until Tuesday morning when I head back to Marion County. And I’ll remember with a catch in my throat that it’s Joe’s stove, Joe’s chimney, Joe’s hands that touched those logs that keep me and his old dog warm.
