A small cabin, and a letter from it every Saturday

Lighting the stove on the first cold morning

Dear reader,

The first properly cold morning came on Wednesday. I knew before I opened my eyes, because the water in the kettle had a skin on it and the floor felt like a lake. I put on two pairs of socks, found the matches and knelt in front of the stove.

I lay the fire the same way every time. A twist of paper at the bottom, a handful of thin, dry sticks across it, then two split logs leaning together on top. I light the paper and leave the door open a finger's width. It takes about ten minutes to catch properly, and the whole time I want to poke it. I have learned to put the kettle on and stand still instead.

This week I made my usual mistake. I grabbed a log from the front of the pile without checking, and it was damp. It hissed and smoked and the cabin filled with a sour smell. I took it out, put it by the stove to dry for a day and used a dry one from the back. Now I always keep a few logs inside, beside the stove, so that the next morning's fire is never made with wet wood.

By eight the room was warm enough to take off one pair of socks. I made tea, sat at the table with the notebook and wrote down the date of the first fire, which I do every year. Last year it was nine days later. I do not know what that means, only that I like having the numbers.

If you have a stove or a fireplace, try this: bring three logs inside tonight and leave them by the fire. In the morning, notice how much easier they are to light. It is a small thing that makes cold mornings much kinder.

Next week I will tell you about the snow, and everything I put away before it came.