After twelve years of living with a wood stove, I am now skilled in the art of making a fire. The bed of coals pictured above is the result of tending the fire all day. Every half hour or so I check in with it, open up the door and see what the situation calls for. Maybe the coals need to be raked in closer to the front, or perhaps another piece of wood is needed to burn with the one already inside. It is interesting to watch how the flames travel upwards, almost the exact opposite of water, which falls, and always finds the lowest places in any given situation (that I am aware of...I'll keep my mind open for a correction on that).

Gathering, chopping, stacking and carrying the wood is no easy task. The wood stove cannot be compared to having constant needs, like that of a child. It is more like a trusted friend, a devoted companion. It asks for a mutual exchange: seasoned wood, fresh air, and a bit of maintenance. Though in return, it gives a warmth like nothing else.