rhythm

It is good to be home, still.

Our lives all have a certain rhythm. Break that rhythm eve a bit and it is uncomfortable. And, come back and it is like an old shoe.

Now that fall is here I build a fire in the stove when I first wake up. I dress, make a cup of tea or chocolate and sit down with my computer.

The fire part has not been part of the mix for some months now. It is a good way to make a beginning for the day.

Nearly all of the wood we burn in our stove is recycled wood. Some Palettes that were doomed, some wood that was given us by various people, some from the trees on our property. Occasionally I buy some, but not too often.

When this house was built in the mid 70’s, a lot of people planted white birch trees. They were pretty, looked good and were plentiful. The trees hung onto our very alkali soil until the last few years and one by one they died.

Of course, I planted one too. It died a couple of years ago, but looked so good (I thought -- lazily) that I left it standing. Well, while we were gone a big part of it broke off and when it hit the ground it was so brittle it broke into pieces.

So this year we will burn some birch along with fir hunks and an oak scrap here and there.