Wood Heat

As I sit here, I'm looking out my windows at the persistent snowfall. Our woodstove is tempting me to take a nap. It heats me to my core, and I am so grateful for wood heat. Wood heat is different than any other kind of heat. It takes the chill out of my bones, and I'm reminded of the Maine Ice Storm of '98. 

I was fifteen years old when the Ice Storm happened. I had just completed career week at the local hospital where I'd spent several days in the operating room, watching. I saw hysterectomies, I saw colonoscopies, and I saw c-sections. I was awed at life. One morning, I watched a baby being pulled into the world, and that same evening, an older gentleman passed away in a horrific car crash. Life and death. All in the same day. As a fifteen-year-old Pisces, it catapulted me into a state of deep reflection, most of which I did in my basement snuggled up to the wood stove because our power was out for days. I remember practically living in the basement. I would practice my darts, make grilled cheese sandwiches over the flames, and I would sit in front of the fire and write. 

Now, as a full-time writer, I smile at the memory. Fifteen was a rough age for me. I'm sure fifteen is rough for everyone, but that woodstove in our basement brought me so much solitude. I am so happy our new place has a woodstove, and right in the living room, too! I can sit, watch the snow, reminisce, and count my blessings.