The first thing I did after rolling out of bed this morning was check the thermometer in the carport. It read 2. The second thing I did was grab an armload of wood. I smiled. It was 2. I like saying that. "What shall I wear today, dear?" "I think you better put on a jacket, it's 2 degrees outside." "What's the weather like up there?" "Oh, its 2."
Last year, when the wood stove was new and somewhat of a novelty, my ever lovin' husband would gallantly keep us well supplied with firewood in the house and dutifully stoke the coals each morning to ensure we girls had a roaring blaze by which to warm our sleepy limbs.
Not so much anymore.
Hmph. No. Instead, he spends several hours a month chainsawing felled trees, loading them in the truck, hauling them down the mountain, unloading them, splitting them on the log splitter, stacking them and engineering the design of the stacked wood so that it doesn't cascade on our heads when we pull from oldest to newest. Of all the nerve.
Which is why I was checking the thermometer - to see if I could balk at my chore, especially on this freezing morning - and to judge whether I would be able to garner any sympathy in a blog post. However, instead of raising an objection to the frigid concrete under my bare feet, I was a little giddy at the prospect of a high temperature of 12, a mere 10 degrees over the chilly 2 at 5:45 AM. Outside. INSIDE was toasty and quite comfortable.
Made me appreciate free firewood...the wood stove....my dear husband....and the pile of logs stacked neatly beside the hearth.