The Sweet Pleasures of a Wood Stove

One of the great pleasures of winter is enjoying a fire in the wood stove at the cabin. It’s a real fire with real wood that comes from real trees—a luxury in our increasingly urbanized environment. Most cities and towns in Colorado have outlawed fireplaces, because the smoke contributes to the air pollution along the Front Range. But my mountain cabin is far enough from the concentration of towns—and humans—that its small output doesn’t measurably affect the air quality—or at least that’s my hope.

Meanwhile, urban dwellers are only allowed gas fireplaces—real flames but arising from metal logs. For those who can’t have gas fires, there’s electric heaters that display moving pictures of fire. So strong is our urge  for fire (at least the controlled ones; wildfires are a different matter) that even fake fires are better than nothing—especially on cold days when it’s snowing.

There must be something buried deeply in our brains, going back to our human beginnings, that associates a fire with a sense of comfort and safety. I was at a Wisconsin resort last fall where a bonfire was lit on the beach every night. Not only did the fire keep away the cold, but it brought together our small circle of humans—some bulwark against the darkness and dangers of the black night.

Getting and keeping a fire going takes some work—chopping logs and storing them in the shed, plus tending to the fire all night. Flipping the switch on a gas stove is a lot easier. But there are real pleasures to be had with a wood-burning stove or fireplace. If you pay attention, a good fire settles the mind like nothing else, because there’s just enough action to keep the mind focused and firmly planted in the present moment, while leaving some gaps for awareness.

I can sit there for hours (and I have) watching the logs burn. With each new log, the silky flames change colors—from yellow to orange to red to blue—and configurations: leaping upward or reaching sideways; embracing the logs and then fleeing them.

Besides the ever-changing visual show, there’s the sound of the wood as it disintegrates—crackling and popping, sometimes sending embers onto the floor—and the quiet whoosh of the winds created by all that motion and energy, flowing upward into the chimney. Each type of wood— pine, spruce, juniper or old fence posts— brings its own fragrant smell—and story.

Right now, I’m burning a log that came from a Russian olive tree planted next to my house in Boulder some 20 to 30 years ago. From the bedroom I could watch the leaves shake in the wind and see the squirrels and birds in its branches. But in its death, I continue to enjoy its presence—and essence.

Each log has a beginning and end, and I’m watching the end of one story.  Although the specifics are different, the stories have the same trajectory:  each tree starts with a seed that is nurtured by a combination of nutrients from the earth and carbon dioxide from the air. Now, as the fire destroys the last material elements of these trees, the wood releases the carbon dioxide that helped it grow—carbon dioxide that another tree will use to thrive.

As I watch, in my small wood stove, the end of one cycle of life and death, I’m overwhelmed by an appreciation for how life works, and a tenderness and gratitude for the tree’s final gift of heat.

Comments

[Brent]

A touching story. I always liked the fireplace at my parent's cabin on Roberts Lake, Wisconsin. Though it was a challenge getting started sometimes. If the damper inside the flue wasn't adjusted just right, smoke would come billowing into the room. My first apartment in Boulder had a wood burning fireplace that I especially enjoyed on a cold winter day. There were restrictions on some days because of poor air quality. And I always enjoy a campfire in the evening.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Brent. It's always a challenge for me to get the fire going, although I've gotten better at it over time.

[shoney]

I'm with you! I love the warmth, sounds and visuals of a woodfire. In Wisconsin, a fire is also great because it dries out the wet, cold air. In our home on the coast we have a gas burning "wood stove"--sigh, but we can't burn wood here. Thank you for including us in your cabin journal.