I Love A Wood Fire

[Peacock]

I love a cozy wood fire. I love smelling the smoke, loading up the logs, poking at it every now and then, sifting through the ashes for still-glowing coals when it's died down and needs to be reborn.

I grew up in a house without a fireplace. I remember asking my mom how Santa would get in if we didn't have a chimney. She told me he'd squeeze in through the mail slot. But somehow, hanging your stocking by the mailbox with care doesn't have the same romance.

Our last house didn't have one either. We got our heat from a heat pump, which worked fine, but the thing about heat pumps is you never get to feel that cozy rush of warm air coming out of the vents. On cold mornings, as I'd walk the kids up to the bus stop, the scent of woodsmoke from the houses that did have fireplaces hung in the air and I nearly cried, I wanted one so badly.

We had a "fireplace" of sorts in the backyard there. It was a brick barbecue pit, of the type that was popular in the late 1970's/early 80's, but it had long since lost its grate. We'd use it to burn yard waste, downed branches and such, and sit beside its glow on a cool autumn night pretending we were out far enough that the firemen wouldn't come and put it out if they caught us. It wasn't located the proper distance from the house, but we hadn't placed it there, just used it. It was situated underneath a huge ash tree (which was probably much smaller when the barbecue pit was built); my husband would spray the leaves above the fire with a hose beforehand, just as a precaution.

Here, our fire pit is about 5' across, at the top of a hill. It's a wonderful spot to sit and gaze over the valley below, and build those flames as high as we want!

When we bought the house where we live now, one of the Must Have Items I specified was a wood burning fireplace. Not a gas fireplace - they're nice and convenient, but no, just not the same. Wood is messy, wood has to be obtained and hauled and reloaded, but nothing compares.

Many years ago I dated a guy who lived in the city in an old building, probably circa 1900's, that was a bar downstairs and his apartment upstairs. This guy was always broke and the building was in terrible condition, but it had a fireplace. He knew how much I liked them, so he'd go strolling through town looking for downed branches and junked pallets. Then he'd drag them up the narrow stairs to his place, put on his heavy hiking boots and WHAM! stomp those things until they broke to smithereens - wood bits and bark flying all over the room - till he got pieces that fit inside the tiny fireplace opening. Ah, memories.

Shortly after we moved here, we ran out of heating oil. The gauge on it doesn't work properly. Then the furnace quit working. Just about exactly two years ago -- and we were cold! We lit fires...but fireplaces aren't generally meant for heating, and ours was no exception. We put in an insert, and it works much better. The lower level family room gets pretty cold unless the fire is going.

So, warming up down here means taking the two-wheel cart out to the woodpile, loading it up, hauling it back through the garage and down the hall to the family room, lighting the fire and waiting for it to get warm enough for the fan to kick on. Then rearranging the logs, loading it up as full as possible with wood, and doing it again 3-4 hours later.

We could just plug in a space heater.

But it wouldn't have the same romance.