I am sitting here now for the best part of an hour reading and messaging and drinking darkroast with a toasted salsa jack cheese sandwich. The light that plays early morning peek-a-boo through the trees in back and then slants through the rear window is changing dramatically. The angle is getting more acute and the changing light makes me feel cooler though it is not. I have on a sweatshirt, just in case. Another way of saying this is that the days are getting shorter.

It’s the hardest part of the year for me. (I’ll say that now and change my mind along about the middle of March when I’d pay money to feel sweat rolling down my back.)

The wood is inside now. It’s enough. My wood guy still owes me two cords and has had some equipment issues and is quite late in delivering it. As long as I can get it into the wood shed before the show flies i’ll be OK. The wood for the stove downstairs lies in the yard waiting to be stacked. There is never nothing to do.

A new gas line has been laid down our road. We were told it was to supply L. L. Bean. I never thought of asking whether they would have brought a line in just for us. Well, we could tap into it and heat with natural gas but probably won’t. The pay out for the cost of installing the service may not be a plus for us. We’ll check it out.

I still love the “ethos” of the wood heat culture. Nothing, I say – nothing compares to backing up to the heat of an arrhythmically ticking wood burning stove, and feeling the heat of it where it counts.