Autumn

Yesterday was September sixth; early yet in the month.

I went out to make sure the chickens were buttoned in for the night, and it SMELLED like Autumn; woodsmoke.
Someone, somewhere nearby had a fire going to take away the chill of this rainy, Oregon evening.
It was a glorious smell, not yet mingled with the smell of dry leaves; pure and unadulterated.

When I smell the smell of perfect woodsmoke-and there IS a good and a bad kind of woodsmoke, it just depends on the wood, I am transported back to my childhood, the good part of my childhood.

First, my parents had some friends, the Bredemeyers. We called them "Grandma and Grandpa Bredemeyer"; I had no idea, until I was older that they were not really my grandparents. They had the most amazing antique store inside a barn, and lived in what I recall as a cabin, next door; not big enough for them and our family when we came to visit. They heated each building with a woodstove, and the smell was heavenly.

Second, later, My real grandparents had 40 acres on a hillside not far from a little tiny place called Mountaindale, Oregon. We lovingly referred to these 40 acres as "The Farm".

On the farm, there was an old hunting cabin that my grandfather worked hard to make habitable. It was a mess to begin with; I was a child, yet even I knew it was a mess.
But oh what he did to that cabin. The best part was, that he installed a small wood cookstove. My grandma would do all her canning in that cabin; I got to use it as a sleepover spot for my girlfriends and I--I think this started after the night I had a friend sleepover, and we left the radio running all night; did I mention we lived in a 1970's era double wide with very thin walls?

Nevertheless, this sleepover haven was at it's best when we were out there in the winter, with a fire in the cookstove to keep us warm and toasty.

If you've never heated with wood, you don't know what you are missing. The heat is dry and cozy, solid in it's properties, like another being in the room with you. So unlike it's blustery cousin the forced air furnace, whose presence is just that, forced upon you; with all it's comings and goings, there is never real peace in the house.

No, a wood stove-my preferred method of wood heat, is like a reliable friend, steady and sure; making comfortable inroads into your psyche.

Autumn is my favorite time of year; leaves, scarlet and gold, green and orange make a feast for my eyes. The woodsmoke? A feast for my heart.