Firewood

B came over and we decided to look at his roof tomorrow morning, so that he can enter holiday festivities later in the day: kids, and the whole extended family. I have modest plans, a quick trip to town, for sushi and a bottle of Irish whiskey. Then some more time in the woodshed. I made a good start on it today, and got a good fire going in the stove using odd chunks of wood. These chunks accumulate, especially if you collect pieces off the side of the road. Knots and crotches tend to burn long and hard, but they're a pain in the ass to deal with. I don't mind the pain in the ass. A good night-time log is worth the extra effort of splitting out a recalcitrant stump. I put the soup on to heat and I have half of a small corn-pone from last night. It's great soup, but I just might freeze the rest of it. I think I'll make a risotto on Xmas day, with onions, mushrooms, and winter squash. Maybe I'll get a small steak when I'm in town tomorrow. The cut-rate meat bin should be full. I'm not opposed to the idea of fixing pork neck-bones on a bed of sauerkraut. I'll certainly have a fresh pone of cornbread. Mostly, I'll probably lay on the sofa and read. The radio will be maudlin. Best that I just hole-up, wear a bath robe all day, and lament the breeding habits of dust motes. I have things to read, and notes to take, toward some future narrative, and I manage to engross myself. B said it all, leaving, walking carefully across the back deck and down the two stairs. He looked over his shoulder and said he couldn't afford to fall. I'm right there with him. I made five trips in from the woodshed, and I was very careful, looking where I put every step. This time of year, a fall could be the death of me. So those are my plans: to not fall, and make a risotto on Xmas day. I might call someone. I have to go, the wind is blowing a gale. Much colder. There was snow in the morning, B came over and said it was too cold for walking down to his house, and I agreed. Another session in the woodshed, Had to wear a watch cap and one of those tubes that goes around your neck. Steph had sent that last item from Iowa and it's very warm. I stayed outside until my feet got cold, then came inside and had tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I seem to be burning a lot of calories. TR called, to tell me about the latest little shake-up at the museum (he was there, avoiding having to go to Xmas Mass), it seems that our new part-part-time education person quit on Friday. It's a ten hour a week position and should be easy to fill. TR said the painters were at the museum. Another huge mess coming my way. We do have a crew coming in to do the floors afterward. Everything was brittle outdoors today. Clear but there was no warmth to the sun. Lovely, though. And being able to see the terrain through the stick trees. A few extremely ruffled birds. No sign of any other animals in the new fallen snow. Very quiet. For the longest time, I was only aware of the sound of my breathing and the crunch of my boots on the crust. When I get a good fire going, I use the temperature dial in the door of the oven to tell me when to add a log. After about an hour, when I've built a fire, and I open the draft that circulates the hot smoke around the oven, thus the term smoke-chase, the temp in the stove steady rises. I control this by draft, and by what I feed it. So if it spikes (oven temp) at 600 degrees, I notice that number, and when the temp drops back down to 500 degrees, I need a log, I need to poke the coals. It's a system built on empirical data, I've probably had two thousand fires in this particular cook stove. I love her dearly. But she is quirky.