Wood Fires and Christmas

WOOD FIRES AND CHRISTMAS
 December 20 & December 22

I had the pleasure last week of participating in the Twelve Days of Christmas presentations at the Macaulay House Museum in Picton. I was the Four Calling Birds. However, there were only three of us – specimens of a great horned owl, a great gray owl, and a tiny saw-whet owl, but four, if one chose to include me. In keeping with modern technology though, the songs came not from my mouth, but from the speakers of my laptop computer.

When I arrived, the fireplace already contained a crackling fire. There is something incredibly calming and spiritual about an open flame in a fireplace. This one was particularly soothing, for above it hung an iron pot, occasional wisps of steam finding an exit from beneath the lid. Moose stew, I was told. I had a sample of it later in the evening, along with some hot cider that simmered away on yet another stove in the next room.

I already knew that Macaulay House volunteers had a wood fire burning somewhere for I smelled the aroma of the smoke the moment I stepped out of the car. Back in earlier times, it was a belief that a person was judged by the colour of the smoke that rose from the “chimley”, as my grandmother used to say. If wood was hastily gathered and not left to cure properly, the smoke hung thick and heavy, but smoke from hardwood that had been dried properly would corkscrew into the air in a gray purple plume. Wood smoke spiralling naturally from a hand crafted chimney will one day become as difficult to find as coal scuttles and pokers, as outdoor woodburning furnaces increase in popularity for those who prefer wood as a fuel, with others condemning the natural odours of the countryside, including wood smoke, with increasing distain.

For those of us who grew up in rural areas though, the smell of wood smoke curling out of a chimney brings back memories of hearth and home. And it did for me that evening at Macaulay House as my mind drifted back to the days when my parents relied on wood to heat the farm house. The wood stove was always considered the heart and soul of the rural home, and indeed it was at our home. The old Findlay wood stove stood between the kitchen and the living room, and the table was thoughtfully positioned within just a few feet of it where its volcanic heat would warm our backs as we ate dinner.

The wood stove was the centrepiece and offered numerous functions. The reservoir at the far end of the stove kept warm water available for any occasion. There was no need to plug in a kettle for coffee or tea as there was always a kettle of water boiling furiously on the back burner, a secondary use being to provide humidity to the otherwise dry winter air. The oven when not otherwise occupied by a Christmas turkey always contained two or three round hardhead stones. These were used as bed warmers and on cold nights one would be wrapped in a towel and placed under the covers at the foot of the bed. I well remember one city friend who once spent the night with me quickly looking in my direction for some kind of comfort when my mother asked him if he would like a stone in his bed. He soon found out what it was all about when he climbed into bed and his bare feet touched the red hot object under the covers. It was surely a night to remember as he was also awakened the next morning by my mother “shaking the grates” on the wood stove below the bedroom, a noise that could easily wake the dead as it reverberated through the stove pipes that passed through his bedroom. At other times, when our feet were numb after working outside in the cold all day, the oven would serve yet another purpose. With the oven door fully open, all one had to do was pull up a chair, and rest their feet on the inside of the oven door. All that was needed to make the scene complete was a cup of hot chocolate and a copy of The Family Herald.

All wood stoves stood off the floor on decorative curved legs, providing enough space for the family dog or cat to crawl under and sprawl out as they drank in the heat. The top portion of the stove held a warming closet where food could be kept hot if we were a little late in getting the farm chores done for the day. Mostly, I remember the stove containing a bewildering array of little dampers and drafts and tiny doors, some of which we never used, but they all served some purpose. One in particular leading directly to the firebox could be lifted easily, into which our visiting neighbour could flick his cigarette ashes as he pulled up a chair to the one end of the stove.

A short clothes line behind the stove held damp wool socks at one end, and the day’s wet dish cloths and towels at the other end. For twelve months of the year, the stove was busy multi-tasking. During the summer months, the top of the stove would be covered with newspapers, and served as a summer workstation.

Fond memories indeed. Although memories of hand splitting cord upon cord of wood every winter also stand out, and the hideous task of cleaning stove pipes, the memories of sitting around the woodstove on cold winter nights are priceless. At this season of the year, the atmosphere of the wood stove took on a special meaning as the Christmas tree was decorated and the annual tradition of hanging decorations took place. Somehow those memories just can’t be replicated today as we plug in the electric kettle, and turn up the thermostat. However, it took just one evening at Macaulay House, surrounded by a mixture of delightful aromas and volunteer staff in period costume to bring it all back. We hope many of you took the time to take in the wonderful Christmas presentations this year at this historic building.

This column, as it enters its 42^nd year in the Picton Gazette, and its seventh year in the Napanee Beaver, takes this opportunity to wish all readers a very Merry Christmas and best wishes for a prosperous 2007.