There’s a reliable rhythm to the furnace in the camper — the way the air feels just before it kicks on, how long it runs, the cozy comfort achieved when the thermostat instructs it to shut down. I’ve become attuned to that cadence over the last few months.
Smudge and I were up and out at 4:45am today. I made a pot of coffee and turned the thermostat up several degrees from its overnight setting. The happy Heeler and I listened to the furnace cycle several times over the next hour or so.
It was around 6:30am when I detected a certain unexpected bite to the indoor air. The furnace wasn’t running and it hadn’t in a while. I checked the temperature readout and, sure enough, it registered five degrees below the thermostat setting.
We were out of propane — that is, the LP cylinder on which the furnace had been drawing was empty.
I put on my Carhartt coat and stocking hat, walked outside, switched the regulator over to the full tank and powered up the HVAC system. The blower purred, the burner fired, and we were back in rhythm again.
We’re dealing with a few nighttime lows in the 20s here before rebounding to more agreeable temps. Today’s forecast said we’d be lucky to see 40°F. It is, after all, mid-February, even if it’s mid-February in Ozarkansas.
To kick off her three-day weekend, Deb decided to throw herself into “spring cleaning” in the camper. Having experience in such matters, I’ve learned to make myself scarce. I chose to stay outside and out of her way.
For the last several days I’ve talked about stacking wood near our new “fire pit,” knowing full well that I hadn’t yet created a place there to build an actual fire. That would change this morning — I pulled out the wheelbarrow, tossed in a shovel, a mattock and an iron rake, and rolled back into the woods.
I’d already collected most of the rocks I’d need. Before arranging them into a proper fire ring, however, I wanted to make the spot I’d designated as level as I reasonably could. That meant raking back leaf litter and digging down about four inches on the uphill side, then transferring that soil to the lower half.
Once I was satisfied with that, I set my tools aside and began deliberately placing rocks. I didn’t rush the process — for me it’s akin to meditation, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
The finishing touch, just as I’d done when building our first fire ring, was to add a layer of gravel. I scavenged enough from behind the cabin to fill a five-gallon bucket, which was just the right amount for this job.
I think it turned out great.
You may have noticed, by the way, that the ring is made up entirely of white rocks. That was quite intentional. And so this fire pit hereinafter will be referred to as “White Rock.”
I finished the work well before noon, and I loaded my tools into the wheelbarrow for their return trip to the shed. Glancing back at what I’d accomplished, it occurred to me that something was missing from this fire ring.
A fire.
Not wanting to touch the woodpile just yet, I foraged for my firemaking materials — mostly junky, punky, funky stuff, but it was dry and would burn fine. I snapped a wad of dead twigs to make my starting bundle. For tinder, I used my Bark River Knives Gunny to scrape the outer bark from a nearby mature cedar.
One flick of my Bic was all it needed to take off. The resulting fire was smoky, naturally, but it required no encouragement — it easily would’ve boiled water had I needed to, and on this chilly morning it was plenty hot enough to warm my old bones.
It burned for over an hour before reducing to a bed of coals. Deb and Smudge joined me as I was stirring the last embers.
I came away from the christening blaze happy as could be. This pleased me.
At that point, I figured I was done for the day. When I returned to the camper, however, Deb was still neck-deep in spring cleaning. I needed to find a way to busy myself, and fortunately I had a few things in mind.
I opened the shed, backed the Ranger down the ramp and put two items into the bed — our Stihl chainsaw, and the largest of the three cable spools left behind when our well pump was installed in September.
My first stop was the original fire pit off the north end of the driveway. There I unloaded the spool, which will serve as a rustic table between our sittin’ stumps.
Then it was on to the monster brushpile down by the road.
I fired up the Stihl and set to work lopping off the ends of logs that were handy and unencumbered by other debris, most of them cedar. Each cut I made had a purpose.
When I was finished I had a half-dozen big bucked chunks that got added to the growing pile waiting to be split. I cut a four-foot length of cedar trunk, a foot in diameter, from which I shaved a slab to create one flat side.
I also bucked three substantial oak rounds, one of which I halved lengthwise.
Back up the driveway at the fire pit, I set the two half-rounds on the ground near the fire ring. On top of that base I placed the cedar trunk, flat side up — and presto, we have a small fireside bench.
Admittedly it’s crude, but somehow it seems to fit. I think it needs a lot of work. Deb says she likes it.
I carried the other two oak rounds (one at a time) back to White Rock. Now our new fire pit has sittin’-and-splittin’ stumps, too.
And then I was done for the day.
The weather today was perfect for the work I did. Bright sunshine helped make it seem warmer than it was — temperatures this morning were just above freezing, and we didn’t get out of the 30s all day.
I’m not sure how we’ll spend our Sunday. Other than laundry, the next two days look wide open.
That’s a good thing.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB