Entry 6: Ode to a Wood Stove

Somehow, my family managed to make it back to Ohio in December, in spite of end-of-semester loose ends, stacks of grading, the emergence of the Omicron variant, and the limited mobility and energy that comes with being very, very pregnant.

Moving back and forth between Virginia and Ohio has its downsides, but one of the things I appreciate about having two homes is the brief period after relocation when everything feels new. It’s easier to notice details, habits, and ways of being that I’d take for granted if firmly planted in one place.

Many of the modern comforts we have in Virginia are absent from our life in Ohio, but in exchange, we enjoy an existence that feels much more tethered to the earth, to the seasons, and to the natural world. The night after our arrival, on the winter solstice, we walked outside to see an enormous, nearly full moon rising through the naked limbs of trees on a neighboring ridge. When was the last time I watched the moon rise, I wondered. Every time I enter my in-laws’ driveway, I delight in the purple, white, and green heads of endive growing in their garden—they look like lost sea creatures in the dormant beds. I’ve knelt (slowly and ungracefully) to plant garlic in my own new patch of garden, clods of wintery mud clinging to my gloves and boots. And I’ve discovered an enormous hornet’s nest, its papery mass hanging precariously from a twig over the road into our community.

Garlic, ready for planting. Jan 2, 2022 (Lucy Bryan).

We’ve moved into a new house for this stint in Ohio (and all foreseeable stints in the future)—one recently vacated by Nate’s sister’s family. For the first time, I’m living in a home whose only source of heat is a wood stove. We’re still figuring out the rules and rhythms of warming our house this way—when to empty the ash pan, how much wood we need in a typical day, how to keep the interior temperature above 60 on days when the exterior temperature doesn’t break 20. But I’ve learned what all of the knobs and levers do and how to open doors and vents using a heavy, brass crank. And I’m getting better at loading the stove without burning my wrists. Already, rituals are forming around our hearth. After his evening baths, my son stands in front of the stove to be lotioned and dressed for bed. In the mornings, I rekindle the fire (or, if it’s gone out, build a new one), and my son and I huddle in front of it with our breakfasts.

New house, new snow. Jan 7, 2022 (Lucy Bryan).

I like the wood stove. Probably because I like fire. And probably because my urban Florida upbringing didn’t give me many opportunities to experience real cold or a pressing need for a source of heat. Add the fact that I can walk outside, breath crystalizing in the morning air, and retrieve brown eggs laid by the chickens my in-laws left behind (temporarily)—there’s something very Little House on the Prairie about this all. For now, it’s fun, though I’m sure the novelty will wear off at some point.

But there’s something else I appreciate about the woodstove. Admittedly, burning wood is not the most energy efficient way to heat a house. The carbon released by woodburning is not great for the environment—and the particulates aren’t great for human health. But relying on a wood stove does make the cost of staying warm very tangible. Instead of pressing a button on a thermostat, one of us has to bring in wood and load it into the stove. It’s hard to miss the material expense of heating our house as we remove layer upon layer from the wood stacks beside the garage. The demands of operating a wood stove also limit waste. We necessarily decrease our consumption at night and when we’re not at home. And what might end up in a landfill or recycling bin in the land of thermostats—scraps from a construction project, junk mail, toddler art projects—become firewood and kindling in our world. Just this week we got several days of heat from the disassembled body of a junk piano that has been sitting in my in-laws’ carport since last winter.  

So, this is life right now—muddy, alternately warm and cold, and full of beauty. I am adjusting, settling, rooting to the best of my ability as I prepare for the birth of my second child, whom I’m sure will make everything new again.

The wood stove. Jan 11, 2022 (Lucy Bryan).

Burn, baby, burn. Jan 11, 2022 (Lucy Bryan).