Much Later

The object becomes the subject of change. Note to self. Still below freezing when I get outside. When it gets below twenty degrees it's all about survival and it's supposed to be below twenty the next couple of nights, then snow. I hope to get to town tomorrow for more supplies, but today I loaded up on wood, enough of everything to get through the cold snap. It takes a solid half a day to get ready for a week's fires. Right now I have twenty half-rounds that need to be split into quarters, ten quarters that need to be split for the stove, and another ten barrow loads to bring to the shed. It's a winter-long saga with me. Gets me outdoors. On cold days it's nice to get out and work physically, while the stove gets going. On a day that I don't go out I burn 25% more wood, trying to get the house warmer faster. When I came back inside today I had a good bed of coals and a warm stove, got a hot poplar fire going and then switched right over to oak. I want to get the house warm enough for me to clean up and shave because I won't want to for the next couple of days. The young squirrels are all frantic, stocking their middens. They're both cute and annoying, they chatter all the time and it's a grating sound, like my personal gang of crows (I love that they eat my dead mice, but I hate the sound of their arguing) chowing down on my largess. I don't expect any return on this investment. Dead mice in the freezer is not the coin of the realm. Though it could be the coin of mine. Dry bark and twigs is enough. Starting a fire is easy, once you start a fire. Just a spark is all you need. Cotton-wood pulp, then soft-wood shavings. I write for a couple of hours then crash, totally used up, but I drink a glass of water before I go to bed, so I'll have to get up and pee, when I'll stay up for an hour and restock the stove. Works perfectly, and I catch another bed of coals, stoke them up with poplar then oak splits. I needed another dead poplar sapling today, to fill the wood box, and I had seen two or three out near the outhouse. The bark splits and they get a white mold, easy to identify. I went up to one, maybe twenty feet tall, and just broke it off at the root, hauled it back to the woodshed. It provides both kindling and starter sticks. I had to laugh, I'd broken off the branches and the tip, taken them back to break up as kindling, and I was dragging the sapling back through the blackberry canes. Bent to my chore. And I saw myself from the outside, old dude, ratty clothes, dragging a sapling back home, gap-toothed grin on his face. As good as it gets.