Archives for posts with tag: wood stove

We’ve been burning a lot of beech this year. A lot of beech. Winter is back, real winter, with the mercury hovering in the teens or below, and snow. A lot of snow. It’s a relief.

Our ‘normal’ snow load and its spring melt is nature’s natural drip irrigation for the forests. We’ve been missing it for several years, nervously noting the change. So this year’s normal La Nina winter comes as a mixed blessing. We’re happy to see the snow—even if it means snow removal duty. We’re noting the multiple polar vortices that our pushing our winter lows lower than normal. That’s also something to note. It’s an indication that the jet stream is unstable, one of the symptoms of climate change. Less visable, and more alarming is that similar instabilities are becoming evident in our ocean currents—the drivers of weather all over the world. 

Beech is not an optimal wood for heating. It doesn’t have the BTUs of ash or other, harder woods. It burns nicely, hot and fast, so we’re constantly filling the woodstove. Our ample beech supply is another disturbing symptom of climate change. We burn only deadfall, so the appearance of beech in our wood supply means the beech trees are in trouble. Beech Bark Disease has been in North America for well over a century. It hitchhiked to North Eastern Canada from Europe in mid-1800s trade, but remained there, relatively stable for its first North American Century. The disease is actually a partnership of several organisms—some fungal and some sap-sucking insects who serve to spread it. The conditions for their joint spread didn’t fuel its expansion until a shifting climate created opportunities to increase its range. It’s done so quickly since the turn of the most recent century, and beech trees are seriously threatened. 

“It all burns,” says Rick as we set out to harvest the deadfall to heat our home. We avoid conifers—because they burn dirty, but everything else that drops to the forest floor is fair game. We’re still burning ash—the last remnants from the ash die off, courtesy of another hitchhiker, the Emerald Ash Borer. Ash is a lovely firewood that burns long and clean. Our mix includes American Black Cherry, Ash, Beech, Maple, and a smattering of Hophornbeam. The only downside to the Beech is that you need more of it to get through the winter. If you’re relying on a glance of the total volume of the total cut and stacked firewood supply, you could run short. We’re running a little short this year. We have back up supplies, so we’ll be fine, but I made the mistake of forgetting to discount the beech when I stocked the woodshed. I remember harvesting the beech, several years ago. Rick was eager to get to some of the ash, but beech trees had fallen across the trail…so beech it was. 

Different species have different attributes when used as firewood. When I was growing up, my father favored oak—hard and long burning. I never liked the acrid edge of burning oak, but it’s a valuable heating source. Lucky for me—there’s not a lot of oak on our property. I don’t have to make that choice. Some woods deliver more heat, some burn fast—good for kindling or getting a fire going. Some wood, like our American Black Cherry, burn with colorful flames. It doesn’t speak to value on a heating level—but it’s pretty to watch in the woodstove. Burning wood for heat isn’t the easy thermometer setting that most folks understand. It takes many hours and hard labor to harvest, haul, stack and split. It’s free, but only in a monetary sense. We work for our warm winters. 

We are not normal in this respect. Most Americans rely on some sort of fossil fuel to keep warm through the winter. That puts the carbon footprint out of balance, essentially releasing CO2 from earlier eras into the atmosphere. This is where renewable energies can make a big difference. Our choice was driven by the economics of supply (we have acres of forest) and by an effort to minimize our carbon footprint. By burning only deadfall, we release only carbon from our own era that was already headed for the atmosphere. It isn’t a solution for everyone. It takes a minimum of 10 acres of forest to supply enough deadfall to heat a home. But it works for us. We extended our ‘utility’ by insulating the hell out of our small home when we built it. We can do even a hard winter with just under three cords of wood.

I have a recurring dream in which I am a ‘sommelier’ of woodburning. I sound like some high-end server as I inform my customers of their woodburning options. “Tonight we’re burning ash and maple—for a long burning fire with a golden hue. For a small added charge we can add some black cherry, which will burn in multiple colors throughout your evening. For special occasions, we can add some lovely imported varieties—like manzanita—hot burning and very colorful—but,” I nod knowingly, “That comes at a premium.” In the dream, I don’t know who my customers are, or what kind of business I’m running. Maybe it’s like a stress dream (like if you’ve ever waited table), or a roundabout way of appreciating life choices we’ve made. But it does make me reflect on, and appreciate, what the forest offers, even in death. Life is a beech…..

We’ve been looking for a chimney sweep. We’ve been using the woodstove for over a year, and it’s time to clean the chimney before the heating season begins. The guy I intended to use up and retired, just as I was ready to hire him. I suppose we could do it ourselves, but it’s a messy job, and might require working on a ladder, on a steep roof. So, we’ll hire, and watch, and decide later if we’re up to it.

This morning I woke up to some strange noises. I couldn’t tell what it was–until I came downstairs. Then it was clear. A bird had flown down our chimney and become caught in the stovepipe to our wood stove. The pipe’s damper was closed–and the bird was trapped there, at the damper. The sound was frantic.

This happened once before, just after we installed the wood stove, but before we’d really used it. Since we weren’t yet living in the house, we didn’t discover the trapped pair of nesting birds until it was too late and they’d died. We hoped that once the system was in use that the smell of smoke and ash would warn off any other feathered visitors. And it did, until now.

Rick came downstairs, having deduced from the noise, that we were, once again, hosts to an involuntary bird guest. After coffee, we gathered the tools to disassemble the top of the stove, to provide access to the pipe. It seemed simple enough, once we were ready, we’d just flip open the damper, and the bird would fall into a pillowcase that Rick had pressed up around the bottom of the stovepipe. I’d open the door and he’d release the bird. Ha!

Just before we started, he warned me that we had to be in sync, because the last thing we needed was a soot-covered bird flying around inside the house. We assumed our positions and I opened the damper. Suddenly there was a bird, flying around the house!

It was a tidier bird than we’d expected–dropping a few feathers, but not a lot of soot. But a lot of soot, dislogded by the bird’s struggles, emptied into the pillowcase and the top of the stove. With a minimum of bird chase, and several opened windows, the bird found its way to freedom. A young grackle, I think.

It took a little vacuuming, but mostly it went well. Afterwards, Rick commented that we didn’t need a chimney sweep; we just needed a couple more birds.

I don’t know. I think two birds in the bush are worth a lot more than one in the hand.