Woodstoves:The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Heating with Wood

I love my woodstove and fireplace--sort of. I love free heat and the beauty of the open fire. But it's a love tinged with resentment and sometimes downright fury.

Like tonight.

It's Thursday, and that's writing group night. The woodstove was loaded and the drafts carefully shut so the fire would hold and heat evenly until we returned home.

Writing group was great--several good stories and poems, and it was nice to reconnect after so many of us had to miss meetings the last two months due to kids' ball games and other commitments. The Chai tea was excellent, and it was one of those mellow evenings that leave you relaxed and smiling for no real reason. Larry and I even cruised down a street in town renowned for its holiday lights as we drove home.

The good mood evaporated when we opened the front door. What was that smell? There was no smoke, but the acrid smell of it filled the house. A quick check of the fireplace revealed no problems--the fire had burned itself out and everything seemed fine in that room.

Then we looked more closely at the wood stove. It's a Fisher and I've had it for 30 years (hard to believe). Every year it has provided so much heat that we often open doors in the dead of winter to cool things off. The temp is usually around 78 when we go to bed, and around 68 when we get up (this is a drafty house). It holds fire for hours, sometimes days, if properly filled.

But tonight we made two big mistakes. First mistake was that we put a pine log in the Fisher. We know better than that--pine is okay when the stove is burning wide open and is pretty hot. Second, we closed the drafts too tight. So the creosote from the pine and other wood leaked out the stovepipe joints and bubbled and smoked until it was completely charred. What a mess. And what a smell.

The stovepipe is as old as the stove. Because it runs directly up about 8 feet and then through the ceiling, it provides a lot of extra heat itself, and it's cool by the time it reaches the ceiling. So it's never burned out, and the only problems we've had with it is when we do something stupid like we did tonight. Thirty-year old stovepipe (ordered through the Sears catalog when it was still Sears Roebuck) is pretty amazing, come to think of it.

This weekend we'll have to find new pipe. It's past time. Stovepipe isn't as easy to find as it was in the past--even Lowe's doesn't carry it now. So it'll be a search, and probably we'll end up ordering it online. I got my money's worth (it was $7.00 a joint back in 1976 when we bought it) so I can't complain.

I love wood heat. I love the fireplace. I love being toasty warm in the evenings and knowing the fire will hold all night. I hate the smell of creosote, especially in my house. I don't like the dirt that seems to be an inevitable part of heating this way either. Or cleaning out the ashes. In the end it all balances out, I suppose. The heat is low-cost (we do have to consider the cost of gas and oil and the chainsaw and its upkeep, the tractor, wood splitter, etc) and it's WARM. No chilly house for us. The fireplace is beautiful; the open fire is a pleasure that I look forward to every wintry evening.

So it's a trade-off, and one we'll keep making until we decide when we want to hook up the free gas. After the cost of pipe and furnace, our heat will be truly free.

Then I'll probably reminisce fondly about the good ol' days when we heated with wood, and remember only the good things--and forget all melting creosote on a stovepipe stinking like 1000 pieces of burnt toast.

The Golden Axe:An Adapted Fable from Aesop

I like telling this story. The images are great, and the moral is simple: don't be greedy, and don't lie. Aesop was one good storyteller.



A woodsman was cutting a tree on the bank of a river, when his axe glanced off the trunk, flew out of his hands and fell into the water.



"Oh what shall I do? That axe is how I earn my living. Without it I will starve!"



As he stood by the water's edge trying to see his axe in the murky water, a woods fairy appeared and asked him the reason for his distress.



"Oh, is that all? I can get your axe for you."



The fairy dove into the river and instead of the woodsman's old work axe, brought up a golden axe.



"Is this the one you lost?"



The woodsman shook his head. "No, it is not. I wish that it was. Mine was not so fine as that one. But mine was a good, sturdy axe, well-suited to my work."



The fairy dove a second time,and came up with a silver axe.



"Is this your lost axe?" the fairy asked.



"No, that is not mine either," said the woodsman.



Once more the fairy dove into the river, and this time brought up the missing axe.



'Thank you!" said the woodsman. "Now I can return to work. You have been very kind to me."



"You are an honest man," said the fairy. "You shall be rewarded for your good heart. You may keep all three axes." The fairy dove back into the water before the astonished man had time to say a word.



Later that day the woodsman told his story to some friends. Now one of these men was jealous and greedy; he thought he might get a couple of gold and silver axes for himself.



So he went to cut a tree at the edge of the river, and of course he managed to drop his axe into the water. The fairy appeared as before, and, on learning that his axe was lost, he dived and brought up a golden axe.



Without waiting for the fairy to ask him if it was his or not, the man cried, "That's my axe! Give it to me!" He reached out to take the shining tool.



"This is not your axe and you know it," said the fairy. "You are a dishonest, greedy man. You will get no axe at all from me."



The fairy dove back into the river, leaving the man standing on the bank.



For his dishonesty, this fellow now had no axe at all.



(adapted from Aesop's Fables by Susanna Holstein 10.2007)

The Woodshed is Full

...and it's no thanks to my efforts. Larry has been hard at work getting the wood in, and now only needs the "extra" pile of wood we always gather to take care of the fireplace.

In some ways, it was easier this year because so many trees died. The drought, you know, and a few struck by lightning. It's been a tough year for trees and other plants.

In 2003, the ice storm that devastated so many trees that we've been cutting those for the past 3 years.

Now the drought has provided us with dead, dry wood for the stove. Even the heat and dryness has some small benefit, if dying trees can be called a benefit.

We will be warm this winter, thanks to Larry's work. Perhaps by next year we will have run the

lines for the free gas adn he won't have to worry about so much wood anymore. I'd bet he'll miss it.

Comfort Against the Cold

They always cut wood together,
leaving when the day was new
and morning chores were done.
The wagon, loaded with chainsaw,
gas, oil, log chains, axe,
and the circular cut-off saw
that attached to the three-point hitch,
followed the ancient tractor
that knew Dan’s touch, and always started
on those cold October mornings
though it would not do the same for his sons.

On back of the wagon
Belva (call her Belvie) rode,
legs dangling over the edge.
She never wore socks, only cotton tennis shoes
when they worked in the woods,
kept her feet from getting hot, she said.
They spent the day, those two old people,
dropping trees, cutting lengths
just right for the Warm Morning stove
or smaller for the cookstove in the kitchen.
The acrid smell of sawdust and exhaust fumes
burned in the clear October air
as the cutoff saw buzzed and whined,
biting wood with ragged teeth.

They never stopped for lunch
but worked right though
Until at last the wagon was full.
Dan would drive the old Ford tractor
down the hill to the house
where Belva went inside
to light the stove for cooking
while Dan unloaded that day’s work.
Outside the kitchen window
neatly stacked ricks of cordwood
lined up against the fence, comfort
against the coming winter cold.