I wake up at 3 am regularly; that seems to be about when my fire is buring low--or has gone out entirely. And the difference is huge between a pile of thick, red-hot coals as big as apples on which to place a log that will fire up immediately, versus a measly few raspberries that need paper and kindling and a little more tending to get roaring again.
In the world of entrepreneurship, you hear of the distinction between Fire Starters and Fire Tenders: those who are only good for getting a business going, versus those who excel at keeping it going. To hell with that distinction in the woods! You better be damn good at both.
And, alas, I am merely mediocre where it really counts: keeping the fire going.
I can say, to my credit, that I have come far at getting it going. The woodstove has a glass front, which is lovely, even enthralling, for watching the fire on a cold rainy day (see previous post). However, it's not very wide, so stuffing the logs in can be tricky. I admit that back in December I burned myself frequently just trying to wrestle a log onto the fire. My fingers and wrists looked like I was into self-abuse. Only slightly.
I do pride myself at the one-match method: getting lots of New York Times newspapers as a foundation, twigs from the yard piled on top, and then some small branch pieces and a log on top. One match and it's a-blazing. On yeah, got that down.
However, I should mention that once or twice (okay, three or four times) I nearly smoked myself out of the cabin before I learned how to manage the air flow: There's a handle underneath--I finally cleaned off the base, saw an L, and eventually realized that L stands for Low, while the H I then located stands for High, referring to air flowing into the stove (and what was that Ph.D. for?). The flue also has a contraption that is vertical or horizontal, allowing more airflow (I knew that already, duh!). So putting it all together, if I get the air flowing in the stove and up the stovepipe before I open the door, the smoke in the stove will float up and not into the room. (We didn't have "Commonsense Woodstove Operation" in my graduate program, see.)
So then Urban Girl needs to learn about kinds of wood and how they burn. Who knew? Now I know that a certain kind of oak, cut in pie slabs (whadeva you call it), will burn fast, and is great for getting the fire started (still don't know the names for this stuff--someone inform me!-- but it's in a specific pile brought by the woodcutter back in December when I arrived and had NO wood set int for the winter, but that's a different story). (By the way, that oak was meant for kindling, but I'm not great with the ax yet--scared myself when the axhead hit my rubber clogs, no damage done, but I decided to wait for a lesson from a mountain man or woman before making my own kindling with the ax. Stay tuned for my ax wielding report.)
Then there is the "Doug fir" (yeah, you see me sling the nickname, huh?) which seems to be the next level up on burning slower and hotter, and finally the rounds of hard tan oak or even madrone that burn the slowest and hottest.
So the trick is to get a good bed of coals going before you tuck yourself in, then place a mammoth round log on top (at just the right angle not to burn oneself on the now really hot woodstove door opening). Tamp down the flue and let that sucker burn slowly all night, so you don't even have to wake up at 3 am to start a whole new fire. Sometimes I've achieved that goal and wake up in a still warm cabin at 6 am feeling accomplished. Sometimes I just settle for a fat log of oak--but you know what happens to it by 3 am.
On the topic of heat and stoves, I now report on Urban Girl learning about and fearing a fire in the stovepipe. Some friends of friends had their whole cabin burn down 'cause a fire started in the stove pipe: the creosote attaches to the pipe and self-ignites. Okay, so I won't put you through too much fear for your friend. After all, I know about knocking the stovepipe to get the creosote to fall and not build up. And I've talked to Dennis the Soot Master who is going to come get it cleaned one day soon.
When I called Dennis, he said, "Oh I remember that stovepipe--the really dangerous one for me to clean, hanging off the little roof next to it?"
"Yeah, that's the one. When can you come?"
"Well, it's winter. Normally you want to be sure your stovepipe is cleaned before winter. I have a lot of folks waiting in line. Is it smoking or anything? If not, it's not really urgent."
"No, it's not smoking--" if I don't open the door precipitously. "But, when I get a fire started, I hear the creosote in the pipe kind of tinkling and it sounds like it's falling down. Is that a bad sign?"
"Huh." Notice his non-committal response. "Well, let me tell you, I'm gonna try to get up there as soon as I can. Maybe another week or two."
Really, I'm not trying to worry you. I just want you to know that life in the woods has its challenges. I used to work in schools where kids brought guns in their backpacks. Once on a warm Saturday morning I was in my classroom in the high school in Richmond; I'd accidentally set off the alarm when I got to the school. Suddenly, I hear a voice outside my door calling, "Who's there?" and a gun pointing into the open door. A gun pointing at me didn't really scare me, to be honest. (It was the police answering the alarm I'd set off.) But that windstorm with the mere idea of a tree falling on me: now that's scary. A stovepipe fire: that's scary.
On the other hand, anyone who knows me has heard me complain in recent years of being burned out by piles of papers as a teacher. So whatever little struggles I'm coping with now, including learning to burn the right kinds of wood so I don't have to wake up at 3 am to keep Cholo and me warm, I am only too happy to figure out.
Next time: The joys of heating your hot water on the wood stove for a hot bath
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