Wet Doesn't Burn

     I suppose I have some expectations that are probably a tad bit unrealistic when it comes to our Homestead. If I'm being honest, there's definitely a good deal of naivete going on. I think I expected to just bomb up there whenever we wanted, throw some logs in the stove and be toasty warm and cozy while winter raged outside. HA! Oh boy....naive is being generous.

     Frank and I needed to get back up to the cabin, not just because we were having withdrawal, but we legitimately needed to get a few things done to satisfy the insurance company. We packed the blazer with all of our stuff, including the dog, and got up there Friday afternoon. It was cold, and wet, and snowy. It was beautiful! The road in was snow-covered but it actually seemed to smooth the road out a bit. We made it up without even touching the four-wheel drive. We got all of the clothes, cooler, tools, blankets and the dog into the cabin and decided that job one was to be starting the stove. Well, actually, job one was putting the fire bricks back into the stove that had been removed. Nope, scratch that, job one was cleaning out the ashes. Ashes - done. Bricks - done. Fire - eventually done.

     We had brought a couple of bundles of dried wood with us because we knew we had used the last of the wood when we were there in December. We got the fire going and then seemed to figure out the balance between the damper, thermostat and some other vent that's on the bottom of the stove and the fire seemed to be cooking right along. It was obviously still chilly in the cabin, I mean, there's no insulation, but it was warming up nicely in there. I went out to start looking for more wood. Two small bundles from the store weren't going to last long and I knew we'd run out. We had planned on leaving Sunday morning, so we needed about two days' worth of wood. We cut some wood, but that damn stuff was wet. It was wetter than wet. Well, we'll just bring it in and have it dry out in the cabin. Easy peasey, right? HA! There was no way that cabin was getting warm enough to dry anything out, including my feet that were now chilly and damp. 

     Hot dogs cooked on the stove and some snacks along with hot tea made it comfortable enough. Our breath was still visible, but it was doable, especially with all of the blankets that I brought. We were beat though, and by about 8:30, it was time to turn in. I tossed a couple more of the dry wood into the stove along with some of the no-too-damp wood that we had separated out. We were good to go for what I thought would be about 3 hours before I needed to add more. Up to bed.... wait a minute, how are we getting the damn dog into the loft? I looked at the baby hippo that was making it very obvious he had no intentions of sleeping alone downstairs and I realized I had not thought this all the way through. I could pick him up, but climbing the nearly vertical ladder with no hands and a 95lb baby seal in my arms? Yeah, no. Frank picked him up, but by this time Jambeau was squirming like a 3-year-old not wanting to take a nap and Frank couldn't maneuver the ladder either. Ugh. Finally, I came up with the idea of putting him on the ladder, Frank taking his front half, me taking his back half and kind of "walking" him up the ladder. I have no idea how that worked, but it did. Fine, great. Let's get to bed. Jambeau was having none of it. We had blocked off around the loft opening so Jambie wouldn't have any accidents, but he was pacing and whining and just would not settle. The part of my heart that hasn't turned black and cold decided to just call him up to our bed (read that as air mattress) and let him sleep with us. That worked like a charm. That is, if you define working as leaving me with no way to move and approximately 1/4 of a blanket. I lasted that way about an hour and then couldn't take it anymore. I left the boys to their slumber and grabbed a thin little blanket to head downstairs to the couch. 

     It. Was. Cold. Frank and the dog had each other to keep them warm. What did I have? Nothing but warm thoughts and my aggravation. The only positive, I thought, was that I would be better able to keep the fire going. I think it was around this time I realized I was a genuine idiot. There was no way that fire was going to produce enough heat to burn any of the wood that we still had. I had one piece of dry wood left and the rest of the logs were sitting there, still sparkled with snow, laughing at me. No, I swear. Those friggin things were laughing. I tried and I managed to get some flames going so I fell back to sleep on the couch. My shivering woke me up. Try as I might, even when there were flames, there was just no amount of heat coming from that stove. It was around 2 a.m. when Frank came downstairs.

     Frank came downstairs. Ahh, but that left our wee little baby alone upstairs and he was voicing his disapproval. I went up there with the thought of passing him down to Frank because getting down was going to be way easier than lifting up. All Frank had to do was stand a couple steps on the ladder, take ahold of him and step down. At this point, I would like to apologize to my dog for the trauma that ensued. 30 minutes. 30 minutes it took us to get ahold of him, to drag him to the opening, to take hold of him and to get him down. I have no idea what scared him so much about being held, but the first time Frank had him, Jambeau jumped out of his arms and, thankfully, jumped back up into the loft and not down. I still can't think about that without my stomach turning. Eventually I got him over to Frank and, squeezing him tight to himself, got him down the ladder. Two ladder rungs have never been so stressful. We all recovered while eating sausages. 

     I told Frank that there was no way we could stay another night; it was just too cold. We would just build the loft railings and get the metal around the stove and then head out. It was a defeat and neither one of us was happy about it (I'm not sure about how the dog felt).

     Before we left, though, I was adamant about walking down to see the river that I had still not even glimpsed. I didn't have my boots on, had no hat, no gloves, but that walk was worth it. It was gorgeous out there in the snowy woods and "our" little river is beyond perfect. 

It's not a huge, raging monster that's just waiting to take a life. It's a winding, babbling, crossable river that runs along the Eastern edge of the property. I need to check the property map because I forget if our lot goes up to, or just past the river. If it's not on our property, it's our neighbor and I'm good with that too. 

     We also walked along the left side of the property, along the road, just to take in the view from there as well. The Southwest corner is where we can see one of the property markers and our plan is to map out the land ourselves once the weather warms up a little. We have the surveyor's map, and compasses so we should, technically, be able to do it. 

     After we walked, we took a last look, and headed out. I've never been so sad to leave a place. We never have enough time there, it seems, and that's definitely going to change in the coming months. Even though this trip pushed me to my breaking point and showed me just how much I have to learn, I didn't want to leave that little cabin. I love it there. 

     There's always a lesson in every test. If you don't believe that, then you just haven't been paying attention and probably find yourself being a victim quite often. What was my lesson with this trial? Well, there were a couple, really. The first is that when you think you're prepared, prepare a little more and then you're probably still not prepared enough. Mother nature has no regard for your ego. You are usually a source of amusement for her, that's just the way it is. If you respect her, sometimes she'll cut you some slack, but most often, you're going to need to work for every little inch you want to gain. 

     The second lesson is that winter is not the time to prepare for winter. This one I already knew, but the point was certainly driven home this weekend. In our defense, we came into this property at a bad time of year. We weren't up there in the warmer weather, cutting and splitting and stacking wood for winter. Sure, we could buy a chord of wood and have it either delivered, or haul it ourselves, but we're not up there enough to justify that expense and there's something ridiculous about buying wood when I'm surrounded by it. I'll be cutting some wood we have around here to bring with us, so I know that we have some dry stuff, and we'll be cutting more when we're up there to start out store of wood for next year. 

    The last lesson is that the damn dog needs a dumb waiter. 

   All in all, I still have nothing but excitement when I think of our homestead. I'm not deterred by the hard work, and the tests and lessons. One look at the beauty of our slice of Midgard and it just makes it all worth it.