Wet wood, tangled yarn, and massive spiders

(Damp, warm—mid-50s)

So here’s something I don’t get: Fire, and where it likes to start. Western Oregon, for example, is a really wet place. The forest acts as a giant sponge, soaking up all possible moisture, and keeping it, even for drier seasons. This place drips for months after the major rains stop. Our forests are so many kinds of green you could make a set of 64 crayons of different greens.

Let’s contrast this with my fireplace here in Slanty: It’s always dry, is made of stone, and was designed to burn wood.

So now, here’s the question: Which of these two places is more likely to burn wood? Examples: A few years ago, a numbskull ranger wanted to burn some old love letters. She did so in a remote campfire pit, in what by all accounts is a giant sponge, and ignited half the state. She didn’t even mean to. In contrast, I’ve spent the past hour trying to ignite five pieces of seasoned wood in my fireplace, and have had little success.

Honestly, I’m not sure why this is. I’ve had a fire every night I’ve been here so far, and they’ve all been small, but roaring affairs, and this one—well, this one just sucks. I started it in hopes of feeling good about the evening, getting to bed early, and being restful. After I lit it, I thought I’d try knitting. I discovered the hat was twisted, and I’d have to start over. I was not pleased, but with a stoic sigh, I started pulling out stitches. A few stitches in, the fire went out, and I came over to tend it, and when I came back, there had been some sort of yarn mutiny, and it was all knotted up in a wad. While I was trying to pull it out, Marc called, but my speakerphone wouldn’t work, and I shouted to him for a few minutes, before realizing the fire was out again. So I came over to the fireplace, and while shouting into the phone, saw one of those hideously large dark spiders I’ve only seen here at camp, crawling around in the fireplace. Marc said he thought it would climb out the chimney, if only the fire was hot enough; this sparked a nerve (I cannot get this fire to light, much less get hot enough to drive out a spider), and the spider crawled toward me. I was navigating the cracks in the brickwork, trying to get a cup over its disgustingly large body, when the smoke detector went off, and Marc said, “What are you doing?” and I considered marching out to the car, in my jammies, and driving home.

Eventually we got off the phone, and I played with yarn for a few more minutes, and now, since I started writing, my fire seems to be cooperating a little.

Today in general was pretty good. We worked on Slanty’s bathroom a little this morning, and then I worked on stripping red alder for new fence materials, and then we started sanding and routing boards for Slanty’s walls. I’m a little sore from the stripping (ha! ha!) so I think I’ll do some yoga before bed. Yes, I think I’ll lie on the floor of this cabin, trying to achieve some sort of meditative state among the gargantuan spiders, wimpy flame, and ridiculous pile of yarn on my bed. Eh.