The fire goddess, who lives in my wood stove, has laboured hard all winter to keep me warm. Now that it’s spring, it is time to put her sleep for a well earned summer rest.
Except, spring is not co-operating and I have to keep prodding her awake again. I am only hoping she is not going to get cranky.
A while ago, the new season seemed to blast in with heated breezes and bright sun blazing. It was actually too hot to work outside. Green grass seemed to grow an inch a day. The house suffered another ladybug plague as all the hidden critters suddenly whacked themselves against the warm window glass in their frantic efforts to escape to the bright paradise outside. The first ants appeared on the kitchen counter. Windows and door could be opened to admit, gasp, genuine fresh air. Oh great, I thought. No more tending to the wood stove every few hours. No more carrying and stacking wood ready for the maw of the stove.
So I thanked the fire goddess for all her hard work during those bitter February nights and official put her to bed. I could almost hear her sigh with pleasure at the prospect of her long summer rest.
Except the temperature dropped to -8C, the sun went AWOL, the daffodils got their little tops frozen and it SNOWED!
Ah, excuse me fire goddess. Poke, poke. Here’s some newly split kindling, here’s some yummy wood dragged from the last cord I just tarped up for the summer. Wakey, wakey. I need to stop shivering.
She obliged, a bit grumpily. Soon the stove was roaring again in winter mode, the fans back in operation to suck up the hot air, the cats back in their January spot in front of the stove.
The sun returned, she got to snooze again, I swept up the wood chips. The sun went in, temperature dropped, rain and wind filled the house with chill dampness. I looked for my fleecy shirts and had to disturb the divine lady once again. She’s back at work again, roaring away this very morning. However, the weather forecast is predicting 15C for the weekend. I have promised her, yes I have, that she can go to sleep for good this time. I’ll soon run out of wood to feed her. And maybe, just maybe, spring will actually arrive.