I thought we had plenty of wood for heating this winter. I assumed we'd have three or four ricks of firewood to carry over to next fall and winter.* But we are running low on winter fuel.
As the winter goes away, the cool nights remain. And the high efficiency wood stove, which heats our home, is still burning an armload or so each day. Those armloads, and their purchase price and the stacking and the burning are the price paid to save money by not using a furnace. They are also the price you pay for smelling the fire and watching its dance throughout the long winter months.
And so tonight as we sit quietly in our cabin--Shelly knitting and me blogging ever so poorly--the stove ticks and envelopes us in its comforting warmth. And as the flames flicker behind the glass on the stove door, I think again that I just can't get enough of living in the woods, and near the land.
My garden books are sitting next to me asking for attention now. So instead of continuing this obligatory post in my thirty day challenge, I think I'll go to them, and leave you to better surfing and reading.
*For you city slickers, a "rick" is two foot long logs, or shorter, stacked four feet high, and eight feet long. At least that's the Brown County, Indiana definition. It is also a half of a cord.