Come On Baby, Light My Fire
Well, it’s that time of the year again… and the fire is lit.
I’m sure, like us, you managed to hold off for a week longer than normal. Almost to the hour, the wood fire at our place gets lit on the ANZAC Day weekend. The absolutely stunning weather at that time gave us almost another weeks’ grace this year. But it is what it is when you live out here, and the inevitable turning of the weather quickly followed a few days after the home-grown renditions of The Last Post were belted out across our driveways.
At 53 years’ old the novelty of trips to the forest for cutting wood are starting to wear off just a little. It’s certainly good for fitness, family bonding and the whole ‘paddock to plate’ (fire-version) thing, but the lure of just being able to flick the switch for heat is calling a bit more loudly every year. Our regular haunt for the supply of wood is the Pennsylvania forest on the other side of Neville. Serious god’s country out there. We buy a permit online from the Forestry commission that, for $25, lasts a week. Sometimes we squeeze in a trip on a Sunday and then the following Saturday, if the muscles are keen and the blades are sharp. It’s a bit like a treasure hunt as we search for fallen gum amongst the infinite pines – a classic case of not being able to see the trees for the forest 😊. Walking up to a hundred yards off the path to cut and drag/roll adds to the reward. We’ll just cut them big, then worry about turning them into bite-sized pieces when we get home, more fitness opportunities.
This year, we’ve been lucky enough to have a bit left over from last season, always good. And our awesome neighbour also had a felled tree that was long since dead, so that wasn’t too far a trip (much to the excitement of child #3 who isn’t exactly a fan of the Neville forest thing) to get us underway for the chills that lay ahead.
The current situation is that permits for cutting wood in the forest is on the list of ‘no’ so far as activities go. So it was kind-of lucky for us that the leftover logs from last year and the tree next door are good enough to get us off and running. It might be another month or so, who knows, before a visit to the ol’ Penn Forest at the back of Neville is a weekend pastime for us. I’m aching to get back out there (knowing I’ll be aching after doing it!), so let’s hope our paths to freedom continue to progress.
For those of you lucky enough to have a wood fire in your home, you know what I’m talking about when I say that I believe there’s nothing like the heat from a fireplace. It’s just different. I’m not sure it’s warmer, or better, or hotter, but it feels warmer, better and hotter. When you take into account the fuel to get to the forest and back, the permit cost, chainsaw blades and servicing, not to mention the Voltarens to fix my back, it’s probably not even more cost effective. But that’s beside the point. Sure, I could turn on the reverse-cycle air con and blow hot air through the house, but there’s just something about grabbing the block splitter, cracking some big logs into little logs, loading up the wheelbarrow and stoking up the firebox as it glows yellow and pumps out glorious warmth. It’s early on Mothers’ Day as I type, and Mrs is still snoozing away. It’s only a couple of degrees outside and the wind is howling, so I’ll be making sure the fire is pumping and the house is warm when she rises. Logs fires in the Central West… aaahhhhh.