Fired Up

Unseasonably warm yesterday, it seemed a bit strange to be hauling firewood up to the porch and sweating as I did so.  It was the first day in awhile that I didn't need to light the stove, but it's best to be prepared and the rack was empty.

(Omigosh, I'm laughing.  It's six a.m. and pitch black outside and a car alarm just went off from somewhere on a hill down the road.  Someone must have visitors from the flatlands.)

Back to the woodpile.  I always wear thick leather gloves when reaching into the stack; one never knows what critters one will encounter.  Black widow spiders are fond of the nooks and crannies, black beetles abound, hibernating frogs move slowly at the bottom of the pile, and I've only ever run across a snake once (that was enough).  The peril yesterday came from a couple of colonies of ants:  little red ants and great big black wood ants.  I'm in the habit of thunking each piece of wood before putting it in the wagon, and it isn't just to dislodge leaves and/or dirt.  Replenishing the porch supply is a group effort, as are most chores here.  Pearl supervises closely and Bessie moves with me from the pallets to the porch, not wanting to be left behind.  The rack piled high, we all take a breather in our accustomed places, satisfied with a job well done.

I've got big plans for today, but will not say in case they "gang a-gley."