The Creative Fire

So far this month, we've had just enough frosty nights that we're back in the habit of a morning fire to take the chill off. On the whole, I don't miss burning wood, which is how we kept from freezing in the old farmhouse. There's more charm in the idea of a crackling fire than there is the bugs, debris and occasional bat carried inside with the firewood.

When we built the new house, we installed a small wood stove for spring and fall and times when the power is out. But we don't keep a big wood pile any longer. We burn wood scraps from Bill's shop when we just need a small fire.

It took us a while to learn how to build a fire in the new house. Where the old house was, shall we say, very well ventilated, the new house is really tight. When the stove is cold, it's a challenge to get the thing to draw. We filled the house with smoke a few times before we learned to open the outside door in the laundry room before striking a match.

Because I've been battling the crud in my lungs this month, each fire has been built with exquisite care. I need the fire to catch quickly and burn clean. I need heat without drama.

As I was laying a fire the other day, it struck me how similar the process is to what I do in the studio when I need to start something new: Lay kindling, open the back door, strike a match, build some heat and coals, then feed the fire.

Over the years, I've smothered my share of fires, in the wood stove and in the studio, because I piled on too much too soon. Lesson learned. I can be patient. Things will heat up shortly. Then I can close the back door and enjoy the glow.