Amazing how muscles that sit quietly, unassuming and unidentified, will jump up and shout to be recognized after a day of unaccustomed exercise. Dave and Zach got the log splitter running...something about "old gas" and vapor locks...and decided to get a start on the log pile. Both men are recovering from shoulder injuries, so they tag-teamed on the splitter and I stacked, and stacked, and stacked. Taking a break, Dave glanced up at the chimney and gasped. It seems that, although I was totally unaware at the time, last winter there had been a creosote fire in the flue. Fortunately, it was above the roof line, evidenced by the discolored metal of the chimney, and was self-limited. It brought tears to think of what disaster might have happened, and relief that it had not. Splitting wood was forgotten as the guys immediately got the brushes and went up on the roof and swept the chimney, no small feat with their injured shoulders. I'm not the only one who's feeling it today.
Earlier in the day, after the apple pie went into the oven, I'd made the dough for fresh pasta and let it rest. When the guys blew the whistle and called it quitting time, we cleaned up and then started rolling spaghetti strands. Zach turned away when I said I was making a clam, crab and cream cheese white sauce, so I pulled a jar of homemade red out of the freezer for him. Dave and I dug into the clam sauce...and we were all happy. There was almost no room for the pies.
I'm not only feeling screaming muscles, I'm also feeling very thankful for my son and Zach, and for that which could have been worse and wasn't.