There are many things to enjoy as the weather gets cooler. One of the best parts of staying warm during the cooler months is being able to spark a cozy fire in the woodstove.
From the newsprint on my hands to the tangy smell of the sulphur as I light the match and put it to the pile, the anticipation of knowing I will soon be as cozy as a cat in a ray of sunshine makes me work just a little bit faster. Then, a brief prayer for that magical chain of events: match to paper, paper to kindling, kindling to logs, and finally, heat to my cold limbs.
I’ll settle on my giant pillow, waiting for the heat to emanate through the glass door of the stove. The warmth will make my skin tingle, get hot enough to make me wonder why my clothes haven’t caught on fire. If I could, I would purr. A strong gust of heat hits my face as I open the door to add more wood. The crack and snap of the logs, the smoky, comforting smell of the fire, a kitten in my lap doing the purring for me, I am mesmerized by the dancing flames.
However, that blissful state of warm-well-being doesn’t come at a leisurely price. Sure, the cavemen stumbled onto something really good when they discovered fire. However, since the surprise of that first mystic spark, a legacy of painful, tiring work has awaited any soul that longs for the hypnotizing flames of fire.
Once we get through the finding and purchasing, there will be seven or eight face cords of wood in one huge pile in our yard. And unfortunately, that wood ain’t stackin’ itself.
Two and a half hours later, Peter and I have decided there’s enough wood inside to get us through until the snow falls. There are three cords of wood in the laundry room, as well as the following additions to my personal inventory:
1. A new form of wood pile arachnophobia. How do spiders grow that big, anyway? Do they dine on chipmunks? And why do they choose to say hello when you’ve got their log in your arms? Don’t they know how dangerous that is?
2. Splintered shins, arms and chin (yes, chin: but my hands are splinter free, thanks to my gloves, and no thanks to that giant spider)
3. A new hole in my favourite sweatshirt, compliments of last year’s downed cedar.</span> I knew the tree would get even eventually. I’m sure the scar won’t show after a year or so, and the blood will come out, compliments of my Tide Pen.
4. A back aching with muscles I am sure didn’t exist this time last year.
5. Bruises so colourful they look like abstract tattoos. 6. Bloody scratches from thorns. Thorns, you ask? Yes. After chasing the dog into the bush to retrieve the logs that he had managed to squirrel away from us when we weren't looking. Rumour has it that he's doing some DIY classes with the beavers back there.
Of course, it wasn't all a bloody battle. Here is a picture of our kitten, six-month old Wick and her first climb into a cedar tree. I was limping when I was finished, but it was worth the scratched cornea I received to take it.
And now, as I sit and let the heat of the fire soothe away my aches and pains, I adjust my eye patch and try not to think about doing this again in a few months. Maybe by then I’ll have found a magical wood-stacking fairy to do the dirty work for me.
