A Year in the Round: Of Hearth and Home

Reader Contribution by Natalie Morris
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A few days ago, I installed my very first wood stove in the tipi. I was hoping I could prolong the warmth-by-firepit-alone for a bit longer, but after spending several nights in a row at 39 degrees and inside a sub-par sleeping bag, I caved. The stove itself is nothing impressive, an $80 find from the lengthy online list of my good buddy Craig. She’s a little rusty, but with plenty of miles ahead of her. Her firebox is wide and open, ready and willing to heat my little rent-free oasis in the wilds. 

Last night I got the fire started in the wood stove on the first try, with just a couple pieces of paper (as opposed to a million, like usual). Never in my life have I been a person who obsesses over combustion, until recently. I’ve never needed to! In my experience, a man has always adopted the fire, caring for it, feeding it, and lovingly stoking it. A hearth is never homeless. Not to mention, I’ve never had a wood stove before. My family used gas. Warmth, to me, has always been just a thermostat dial away.

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