Sunday 18 October 2009

lumberjack orgy

Though having committed to the delivery way back at the end of August through a popular auction website, our supply of firewood was not brought by until later Saturday evening. I guess that H and I will not be hearing Torch Bunny transform very much this winter, or the next, since we've been rained on with an embarrassment of kindling. The whole process, delayed as it was, was sort of strange and suspect. And most deliveries in Germany stop at one's threshhold or at the bottom of the stairwell, but I was a bit miffed that the guy dumped his trailer full of wood in front of ours and neighbour's garages. To his credit, he spent a good half hour tossing logs into the big pyramid that now occupies H's parking spot. Unceremoniously dumping the timber onto the driveway and street did not exactly strike me as unprofessional, but I just had the thought in my head that it would come shirnk-wrapped on pallets that were four neat and stowable cubic meters. We're still sorting through it all. Some is a bit rough-hewn and young but certainly conbustable enough. In the run-up to the arrival of the wood, the Wood--it's an entity, real-estate in its own right, we stoked a fire a frantic pace, letting our supplies dwindle and had the house an obscenely toasty 23° Celcius, and now it's like some Elemental Smack-Down in our house. Fire versus Wood, Heat versus Cold. Before, the only time it seemed like I hosted such a battle royale was in my old place, when the water pipes had frozen after being away one bitterly cold weekend and the faucets refused to cooperate until a coaxed thaw.