The Dancing Fire

I sat, mesmerized, looking at the dancing flames in our wood stove. The blaze caressed the wood, licking the sides of the split logs. The sparks, snaps and crackles, along with the smell of the smoke were all a part of the magic. The fire was alive, seeking my attention.

This year, for whatever reason, cold weather seemed to sneak up on us. We have enjoyed a long dry Fall, and I’ve ignored some of my “getting ready for winter” chores, including splitting wood. We still had some wood left from last year, but knew it wouldn’t last the season. I feel a bit like the grasshopper in Aesop’s Fables. You know the story – the grasshopper has lounged around while the ants worked all summer and fall, busily preparing for winter. In case you forgot, the story doesn’t turn out well for the grasshopper. 😉

They say wood warms you twice. Once when you cut and split it. The second time when you burn it.* Fortunately, there were a couple of fallen oak trees on the property already cut into chunks. All that was needed was a bit of umphhh to finish the job. Along with our neighbors, Mike and Janet, we split a couple cords of wood. It made for some good exercise over a day or two. We have a pneumatic splitter, but make no mistake, it’s still work. A couple of beers and some ibuprofen made it both more fun and less painful. That first night, after we finished splitting the wood, Janet’s wonderful chili filled our bellies and eased the pain as well.

A couple days later we had our first fire of the season – the first, but not the last. It’s only mid-November now, but the evenings are becoming chilly. We have already had a few nights in the 20s and there will be many to follow between now and early April. The fires in the wood stove turn our family room into a cozy little haven.

The night of that first fire, Cathy was finishing up at the barn and I was alone, sipping on a before dinner cocktail. I was, perhaps, watching the stove more closely than usual. I used some of our old wood, and some of the newly split pieces – I wanted to make sure the new wood was seasoned enough. All of the wood, both old and new, burned fine.

I watched as the flames grew, curling around the logs. While no music played, the fire still danced, growing, receding, swaying, bending and weaving to and fro. It shape-shifted with a soul of its own. Entranced and seemingly bewitched, I watched this private show, unable to take my eyes away. It drew me in with its warm embrace, and I remember thinking, “Do we all have a little pyro in us?”.

I didn’t get a chance to answer the question. Cath and Carmen came in and the spell was broken. We fed Carmen and I fixed Cath a drink. I looked back at the fire, but that’s all it was now – a fire in the wood stove. The temptress had disappeared.

Addendum:

• *In the book “Walden”, Henry David Thoreau said, “Every man looks at his woodpile with a kind of affection. I love to have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to remind me of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody claimed, with which by spells in winter days, on the sunny side of the house, I played about the stumps which I had got out of my bean-field. As my driver prophesied when I was plowing, they warmed me twice, once while I was splitting them, and again when they were on the fire, so that no fuel could give out more heat.” Thoreau acknowledged hearing the saying before. No doubt it’s been around for centuries.