Without a warm fire, a home would be miserable.
Today, there is wood to be cut, stacked, transported, stored, burnt.
John’s truck has been driven to an old orchard and branches are being trimmed, logs cut with a chain saw into manageable pieces. The wood has to be the right thickness and length to go into an outside fire pit made out of an automobile rim. Inside the house is a wood burning stove that has been used since the nineteen hundreds, a heat he grew up with in his childhood home.
Heating with stoves is old technology, but, when one has doubts about electrical grids, it is worth chopping wood and knowing survival ways.
As John and I sit around the fire pit at night looking for UFO’s, the stars give us light but no heat this many millions of miles away. The sun turned in over an hour ago and Old Man Winter is blowing cold air around our huddled bodies while the wood crackles and pops.
Warming my hands, I wonder what the caveman’s front door welcome mat looked like?
Did they sleep walk?
What was their favorite recreation?
Did they hope for a better future for their children?
They had fires just like this, and on cold nights, would have huddled, speculated, and thrown another log in the fire till the wife told them to come to bed..