We live in a drafty house, but thank God, we have a good wood stove and we don’t have many days that wood burning is banned. Last year I broke the law (isn’t it unconstitutional anyway?) a couple of times when I really needed that cheery fire to make the “barn” a hospitable place. We are on the fringes of the area where wood smoke is a problem, so I like to think it doesn’t actually apply to us.
Yesterday we got a big load of fuel delivered, and P. was around to help carry and stack.
When we do get temperatures that make us turn on the furnace, my chore time will shift from gardening to fire-tending. It’s my job to build the fires and keep them burning. And if I don’t, my phlegmatic self becomes more so, and the urge to climb in bed with a book just to warm the bones presses on my mind.