Wood Fires and Christmas

WOOD FIRES AND CHRISTMAS  

December, 2013/January, 2014 issue  
I  had the pleasure one winter of participating in a Twelve Days of   Christmas presentation at a museum not far from where I live. I  represented 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 in this museum 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 the museum 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 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 lad from Barrie who once stayed overnight 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 this museum, surrounded by a mixture of  delightful aromas  and volunteer staff in period costume to bring it all back.  
  
 For more information on birding and nature and guided hikes, check out the  NatureStuff website at www.naturestuff.net