A Winter Evening,
Currier & Ives,
Bridgerman Art Gallery.
The fireplace guys installed my cast iron wood stove on Friday -- which is why I wasn't here. An all-day job, including the insertion of about 40 feet of a silver anaconda/chimney liner and a slate heat pad over the original hearth.
Now, if the bitter winds of winter take down the power lines I won't have to flee my brick igloo. If need be I can cook on it.
An alternate source of heat is especially important here to prevent freezing pipes because I have those elegant, old-fashioned radiators/hot water heat in addition to the usual domestic water pipes.
It's a sweet little stove with glass doors and a catalytic function. I beam at it.
I have also, beyond the garden, a wood-burning bbq. Not propane, not charcoal. And made, incidentally, out of re-cycled concrete blocks and re-cycled racks. I have mature trees which need, on occasion, pruning or removal. The ashes go on my garden for those plants and shubs that like it.
Now for my rant.
Rigid enviromentalists are apt to exclaim about the evil of carbon emissions/ air pollution from wood burning items such as mine.
They fail to factor the carbon emissions produced should my tree cuttings and other untreated and burnable wood be put at the curb to be hauled off to landfill by a lumbering/gas burning garbage truck. Or the emissions produced to supply electricity for my electric stove and microwave should they be used in lieu of firing up the bbq.
I think the carbon credit is in my favour.