It is February 1st, and today the count down to spring begins in earnest because this morning I sawed up the last of the firewood, and when it’s gone, it damn well better be spring.
Nervous that the wood would run out before the cold weather did, I bought a few packs of mollies (i.e. pressed wood briquettes—they are the dark brown things on the bottom shelf there). Despite their mercifully long burn time and high burning temperature, however, grinding up trees and pressing the bits into briquettes in a factory is probably less efficient than just burning the trees in the first place. But at least they keep me off of the junk, I say. The junk being coal, that magical stone that burns long enough to keep a little wagon ship warm all through the night, so seductively easy to heat with, and the reason why mountain tops are being blown up and water supplies surrounding mines poisoned. The day I start buying coal I welcome you to come over and hit me over the head with a baseball bat.
But until that fine day arrives, I will gaze upon my dwindling supply of firewood with excitement rather than fear. Every block gone is another day closer to spring mornings, to breakfasts outside, to bare legs and bare feet and popsicles and lakes.
What does spring have in store for you?
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