Fire and Ice
The thing about being without electricity at Kelley Ridge was that I was thankful–thankful that I was trapped there and not somewhere else. Being there, I could burn wood and keep the house warm. This kept my pipes from freezing. Having experienced a burst pipe and a flood coming from my second floor all the way down to my basement through the ceilings, I was extremely grateful. I carried in what was left of my woodpile from the days of Joe. Much of it was rotten. What was not crumbling was wet or too big to fit into the stove. I had enough wood inside to get a fire going so that the ice melted off the wet wood.
I have two woodstoves. One is a Mama Bear, and she is located in the basement. She is a mother and will heat the whole house if stoked with good hot burning wood. For those of you who do not heat with wood, some wood burns hot and others does not. You would think that if it is burning, it must be hot. NOT SO. Anyway, the upstairs stove is a little, decorative kind of fake-o one. It is pretty, though. I can open the doors which are glass and watch, or I can close the doors and see light through the glass. This is true unless the draft is not good–then I have a house full of smoke or the glass is covered with soot, and I cannot see anything. As Pops would say, “About as useless as a teat on a boar hog.” Cute, though. 
Bringing wood into a house is dirty. It makes everything dirty. Smoke is dirty. If a chimney is cold, it is hard to get a good draft right away. Smoke goes in the house. Then you smell like smoke. If you cannot take a shower for a long time, you will cease to smell yourself. But when you go to church, the people around you will think you live in a bacon factory. Bugs come out of wood that is brought into the house. It does not matter that these bugs have been frozen to -2 degrees. They will resurrect.
Please understand, I am not dissing wood heat. I survived on wood heat. I will be eternally grateful to Jim, Michele, Deb, and Jerry who brought or supplied me with wood. And, of course there was wood from the MR. WOOD himself. I sat next to the wimpy stove many nights, keeping warm, reading my book, drinking my tea that had been heated on its top. I grew very attached to my poker and my fire gloves supplied by Fron. They became my best friends. I said my prayers kneeling in front of Mama Bear as I waited for the embers from the night before to catch on a new log. And when the flames would lick affectionately in front of my warm face, I felt safe although alone.