For an entire year I was forced to go cold turkey on the woodstove habit.
I did not have an easy time of it. In the winter the stove holds me like a yo-yo on a string. It reels me out to feed the animals and to work at my desk, but before long its irresistible warmth pulls me in and has me flying back beside it once again.
One of the main reasons we bought our little log house was the antique wood cook stove that stood front and centre in the kitchen. We first viewed our future home on a cold and rainy afternoon. When I saw the stove crouched in the kitchen emanating its seductive warmth I let out a little scream and said, “I can’t believe it! I always wanted a log house with a wood cook stove!” The real estate agent and the homeowners exchanged a smug smile. They knew the house was sold. What an idiot; a happy and warm idiot with a new home, but an idiot nonetheless.
I loved cooking on that stove. Real or imagined everything seemed to taste better. Over the years the handy warming oven kept hundreds of suppers from getting cold while waiting for assorted family members to get home. A water reservoir on the side meant a steady supply of hot water as well as a source for humidity during our dry winter months.
But not everything was idyllic. For a dozen years we held a tenacious relationship with our fire insurance provider on account of that old stove. They wanted there to be a CSA plate on the back of the stove. It didn’t have one. They wanted pictures so we took them. They wanted maps, measurements and diagrams, so we drew them. Every year we held our breath until — with increasing reluctance — our policy was renewed for another 12 months.
Last year our period of grace ran out. Without that CSA stamp of approval it would have to be moved four feet away from all surfaces. Our house isn’t big. Moving the stove four feet from all surfaces would mean taking out an island with its precious cupboard and counter space and repositioning the stove directly in front of a window. As beautiful as the stove might be, it would end up looking ridiculous. And so would keeping our pots and pans in a box in the middle of the floor where the island used to be. And so it had to go. It didn’t matter that our stove was built more solidly than any of the new ones with their fancy CSA stamp. It didn’t matter that it was perfectly safe and well installed — which the inspector said it was.
I know it was just an object, but it broke my heart to see it go. It almost broke our backs as well. The lovely old thing must have weighed 500 pounds! Somehow Darcy and I managed to wrestle it out of the house and into his truck. It was a sad and sorry day.
Replacing it wasn’t an easy task. Call me Ms. Sulky Pants, but I decided if I couldn’t have a wood cook stove exactly like my old antique one then I didn’t want a wood cook stove at all. And so we endured our first winter in our log home without the inviting warmth of wood heat. This winter we put in a regular wood stove. I miss the oven but I admit that I am enjoying the view of the fire through the glass door.
There is something very soothing about watching logs burn. I’m not the only one who enjoys the sight. Just ask Shaw TV. Every Christmas season they broadcast the crackling Yule Log on basic cable. This year they came up with an idea. Instead of providing the channel for free they would move the fireplace image to one of their video-on-demand-channels, charge 99 cents for one hour and 55 minutes of fire watching and donate all the proceeds to local charities. Enraged customers heated up the lines demanding that their TV fire continue to be provided free of charge. Within 24 hours Shaw backed down and a lesson was learned. Don’t get between Canadians and their fires!
In closing, I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a warm and cozy Christmas with the right kind of sparks.
Shannon McKinnon keeps the home fire burning in the Peace River country. Warm up to more writing at www.shannonmckinnon.com