The First Fire of the Season

The first fire of the season is on a par with some kind of holiday....its special. Full of homespun comfort. Its fun and without the memory of waking in the middle of the night to put on another log so you won't freeze in the night. I wish there was a way to send the smell of the oak burning, or have you see the smoke drifting past the window as I type. The way the thin grayness sweeps down towards the ground in the wind and then magically billows up towards the gray sky where it blends in and disappears. The cycle of this never fails to amuse me. In the living room where the stove sits, warmth fights with the cold air as the windows are still open. The first fire after the stove has just been blackened isn't all that nice smelling in the house. So the windows being open seems to carry off the smell of the blackening burning off and the wonderful homey smell of the wood smoke finds its way into the house by the very same window that carries off the not so nice a smell. In a bit the blackening smell will be gone. Tis the way it is...
On one of my trips out to the woodshed for more logs, I took my camera with me. Trees loosing leaves quickly in this wild wind day. The air is swirling with leaves dancing their way down from the top branches. Frenzied fall day. The tea kettle will soon sit atop the stove and if it stays this chilly, soup will simmer there too. A pan of cornbread would be nice tonight.

I would not trade this simple life for anything. Season changes bring such joy. Bringing in the fire wood is healthy. Sitting in front of the fire, conversations lingering in the warmth. Tea kettle hissing and and pots simmering with goodness. Lamps lit, casting shadows that dance on the wall. A good book awaits me with another cup of tea.

On this very same trip outside, a sad thing. I found a kitten, lifeless and soaked, it had strayed from the warmth of the momma cats nest. Momma cat knew well what I could not face. She refused the kitten. So I took it, mumbling about what a bad mother cat she was. I rubbed its tiny cold body, it stirred. I warmed it by the fire, talked to it, prayed for it but it did not make it, momma cat did know. A sad moment in time. Farm life teaches you much about birth and death, and I suppose you get a bit used to it, but not so used to it that the sting of loosing an animal is ever gone.