Our house includes this wonderful fireplace/stove thing.


I’ve never had a fireplace in my house that I can remember. Dillon actually grew up in a old house where a fireplace like this was how his family heated the home. And still do, actually.

Our other heating option is propane, which can get expensive. And we get free wood from the state park Dillon works out. Though cottonwood is not the best word to burn. Just saying. The Russian olive wood does better. But when it’s free, you burn it.

I can build a fire all by myself now. Usually I take three logs, two on either end of the fireplace, one crossing those, more towards the back. Newspaper in the middle of it all, topped with kindling. Light the newspaper. And you get a fire.

Except sometimes I’m inept or the logs are weird shaped or my newspaper is too crumpled up or my kindling is in the wrong space or I blow out my fire in an attempt to make it get started quicker. It’s a work in process.

MM loves building fires. We don’t actually let he build fires of course, but she helps by getting logs and watching and getting in the way. She hasn’t burned herself. Yet. We try to keep her safe.

The whole point of this is that I enjoy having a fireplace. It gets too hot and it gets too cold, but the smell of smoke when you go outside makes you feel like you are camping. And it’s fun to build the fires. And it’s just plain cozy having the crackling in the background on a cool evening.

My only problem is that it juts into the room at a forty-five degree angle and I can’t figure out how to make the layout of my living room work right. I tried a new one the other day. Yeah, so we lived her just over a week and I’m changing the layout again. Fun times. Dillon isn’t sure what to do with me, besides instruct me thoroughly that I’m not allowed to manhandle the couch into a bedroom by myself.


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