“Is this a Christmas gift for you?â€
Glancing up from the counter where my new saw and various other mostly-colored-orange accessories were taking up the available space, I smiled at the pretty young girl.
“I guess you could say so,†I said, nodding.
And so it seemed. After loading everything in my truck I turned down old rt. 28, a road I hadn’t been on since a ride last summer, on the Harley. I figured to celebrate with a 2-wing lunch at Popeyes.
Doing the same thing for a long time doesn’t mean we’re expert at it. All it means is that we’ve mentally reinforced a bunch of old habits. And although wisdom derives from experience, having lots of the latter doesn’t mean we’ve gained much of the former. Sometimes it just means that we’ve gotten very good… at a lot of bad things.
I’ve been burning wood as my primary heat source for 15-odd years. Frankly, I never gave it an awful lot of thought. Ginny and I would periodically kick around the idea of getting a new woodstove – a thought that never went anywhere – but otherwise it was pretty much the same every year.
Buy and stack a truckload of “seasoned†wood once or twice per season to augment the modest amount I cut and split.
Feed the voracious appetite of the stove.
Stay up late on Friday and Saturday nights – and spend many an hour sleeping on the couch waiting for the stove to settle down, because I didn’t trust it - and get up early the following morning, trying to get an overnight burn.
Fiddle frequently with kindling and small splits, because those overnight burns were tough. I wish I had a nickel for every time I knelt there in front of the stove, hope in my heart, stirring things around with a small stick.
Build fresh fires all the time, because that old stove was like a bad mistress – she would go cold unless you paid constant attention to her. I wish I had another nickel for every time I stood there, my hands blackening with ink, crinkling up sheets of old newspaper.
Frankly, it was all drudgery. I hated it.
We did it, of course, because of what we ultimately got out of it. Saving big time on the electric bill was certainly important. But far beyond that was the quality of the heat that we got. There’s something very special about having a woodstove cranking away when it’s cold outside. Double down on that when snow is coming down big and heavy.
I’m not telling anyone here anything you don’t already know.
Now and then life cracks a window for us. The gods smile and offer up an epiphany.
Who knew that a new stove could make all the difference?
Before good fortune led me here six weeks ago, I’d never heard of Blaze King. And yet I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that my new stove has been anything short of magical. I thank the collective wisdom here for gently pointing me towards that here-you-cannot-go-wrong choice.
It has led to a profound reimagining of what wood burning means to me. It has led me to, at long last, try and get serious. To get good at this stuff.
And so it is that the stove was just the beginning. It has all been breathtakingly expensive – something I’m glad I didn’t know in the beginning, or else I probably never would have begun this walk. I’ve got most of what I need. The new log splitter and the second chainsaw were the biggies. But the new Fluke IR thermometer, the Supercedars, the Chimfex chimney flares, the ash rake, the new splitting ax, and the several books, all together weren’t cheap either.
Today I’ll be replacing the four smoke detectors in the house. It wasn’t until a week ago that I had ever heard that there were two types of smoke detectors. Something I learned here. The units I bought are combo models.
And, of course, there’s the wood.
We spend most of our time talking about stoves when, mostly, really, it’s all about the wood. If I’ve learned nothing else in my short time here, it’s that.
Like most people, I’ve always known that one needs to burn seasoned wood. And I’ve always known, shaded thoughts in the back of my mind, that there are degrees of what constitutes “seasoned.†One of those things, a minor little mental worry, you just kind of ignore. Because you know that that “seasoned†wood you’re burning… ain’t so much.
Probably like a lot of folks, I’ve mostly obtained my wood on a season-by-season basis. It’s been cut and split for maybe eight months, or a year, or a year and a half. Okay, maybe. Certainly not great.
Knowing I wouldn’t have the time to cut and split enough to quickly get a several year supply laid in, I went ahead and ordered two truckloads. Given the still-shocking-to-me efficiency of my new stove, I figure that’s 3-4 seasons worth.
That’s what I plan to always have on hand, from now on. The new splitter and chainsaw and other stuff are to help keep me there.
Mostly, the remarkable thing for me has been that what was once a drudgery, something to avoid and cuss over, has now become a joy.
I’ve always liked fire. When we were five years old, my cousin and I would, at every opportunity, walk to the edge of the housing development where we lived and build “campfires†– to the obvious consternation of the adults who lived nearby. There was the time when my aunt – my cousin’s mom – had us each by an arm and was shaking us, the matches we had stolen from her kitchen falling out from the legs of our shorts.
Some things never change. I've always liked the fire part. I just never cared for the rest of it.
Who knew that a new stove, and a website full of people already wise in this stuff, could make all the difference?
My thanks to y’all…
Glancing up from the counter where my new saw and various other mostly-colored-orange accessories were taking up the available space, I smiled at the pretty young girl.
“I guess you could say so,†I said, nodding.
And so it seemed. After loading everything in my truck I turned down old rt. 28, a road I hadn’t been on since a ride last summer, on the Harley. I figured to celebrate with a 2-wing lunch at Popeyes.
Doing the same thing for a long time doesn’t mean we’re expert at it. All it means is that we’ve mentally reinforced a bunch of old habits. And although wisdom derives from experience, having lots of the latter doesn’t mean we’ve gained much of the former. Sometimes it just means that we’ve gotten very good… at a lot of bad things.
I’ve been burning wood as my primary heat source for 15-odd years. Frankly, I never gave it an awful lot of thought. Ginny and I would periodically kick around the idea of getting a new woodstove – a thought that never went anywhere – but otherwise it was pretty much the same every year.
Buy and stack a truckload of “seasoned†wood once or twice per season to augment the modest amount I cut and split.
Feed the voracious appetite of the stove.
Stay up late on Friday and Saturday nights – and spend many an hour sleeping on the couch waiting for the stove to settle down, because I didn’t trust it - and get up early the following morning, trying to get an overnight burn.
Fiddle frequently with kindling and small splits, because those overnight burns were tough. I wish I had a nickel for every time I knelt there in front of the stove, hope in my heart, stirring things around with a small stick.
Build fresh fires all the time, because that old stove was like a bad mistress – she would go cold unless you paid constant attention to her. I wish I had another nickel for every time I stood there, my hands blackening with ink, crinkling up sheets of old newspaper.
Frankly, it was all drudgery. I hated it.
We did it, of course, because of what we ultimately got out of it. Saving big time on the electric bill was certainly important. But far beyond that was the quality of the heat that we got. There’s something very special about having a woodstove cranking away when it’s cold outside. Double down on that when snow is coming down big and heavy.
I’m not telling anyone here anything you don’t already know.
Now and then life cracks a window for us. The gods smile and offer up an epiphany.
Who knew that a new stove could make all the difference?
Before good fortune led me here six weeks ago, I’d never heard of Blaze King. And yet I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that my new stove has been anything short of magical. I thank the collective wisdom here for gently pointing me towards that here-you-cannot-go-wrong choice.
It has led to a profound reimagining of what wood burning means to me. It has led me to, at long last, try and get serious. To get good at this stuff.
And so it is that the stove was just the beginning. It has all been breathtakingly expensive – something I’m glad I didn’t know in the beginning, or else I probably never would have begun this walk. I’ve got most of what I need. The new log splitter and the second chainsaw were the biggies. But the new Fluke IR thermometer, the Supercedars, the Chimfex chimney flares, the ash rake, the new splitting ax, and the several books, all together weren’t cheap either.
Today I’ll be replacing the four smoke detectors in the house. It wasn’t until a week ago that I had ever heard that there were two types of smoke detectors. Something I learned here. The units I bought are combo models.
And, of course, there’s the wood.
We spend most of our time talking about stoves when, mostly, really, it’s all about the wood. If I’ve learned nothing else in my short time here, it’s that.
Like most people, I’ve always known that one needs to burn seasoned wood. And I’ve always known, shaded thoughts in the back of my mind, that there are degrees of what constitutes “seasoned.†One of those things, a minor little mental worry, you just kind of ignore. Because you know that that “seasoned†wood you’re burning… ain’t so much.
Probably like a lot of folks, I’ve mostly obtained my wood on a season-by-season basis. It’s been cut and split for maybe eight months, or a year, or a year and a half. Okay, maybe. Certainly not great.
Knowing I wouldn’t have the time to cut and split enough to quickly get a several year supply laid in, I went ahead and ordered two truckloads. Given the still-shocking-to-me efficiency of my new stove, I figure that’s 3-4 seasons worth.
That’s what I plan to always have on hand, from now on. The new splitter and chainsaw and other stuff are to help keep me there.
Mostly, the remarkable thing for me has been that what was once a drudgery, something to avoid and cuss over, has now become a joy.
I’ve always liked fire. When we were five years old, my cousin and I would, at every opportunity, walk to the edge of the housing development where we lived and build “campfires†– to the obvious consternation of the adults who lived nearby. There was the time when my aunt – my cousin’s mom – had us each by an arm and was shaking us, the matches we had stolen from her kitchen falling out from the legs of our shorts.
Some things never change. I've always liked the fire part. I just never cared for the rest of it.
Who knew that a new stove, and a website full of people already wise in this stuff, could make all the difference?
My thanks to y’all…
