The cooler weather means one thing for this city-turned-farm girl: a fire in the wood burner! 

I’ve waited all summer (well, four years and all summer) for this. Our previous farmhouse had no capacity for burning wood. How I missed the smell of a fire and the warm sounds of burning wood. 

I’ve seen my husband do this a thousand times, this turning wood to fire thing.

We’ve had fireplaces in two of our previous houses, but we never needed them as a source of actual heat. When things got cold and busy we just cranked up the thermostat. 72 would be just fine, please. Fires were for weekends.

This place. This place is different. We have two wood burners and the plan is to keep the thermostat low and heat primarily with wood.

It’s a good plan.

Except.

I can’t start a fire to save my life.

One would think–with all the fire safety talk we heard in school, fire stations, fire men, smoke detectors, fire extinguishers, fire-resistant jamies for toddlers, insurance, fire hydrants, etc. etc.–one would think this should be easy.

Yet, it does not come natural to this city girl.

Which matters little now. A little chilly weather can be mended with a sweater and warm socks. Some hot tea, perhaps. 

Still, winter is coming. Its imminent approach looms overhead like a dark storm cloud.

I suppose I have a little time to go to fire-building school, taught by my sweet husband, who shakes his head and smiles that “oh, poor girl” little grin at my attempts.

I wonder, can a thermostat-dependent city girl be taught new fire-starting tricks? We shall see.

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