No Smoking
The nights are getting cooler, so last night I decided to light the wood stove to keep the temperature in the house nice as long as possible. I was alone at the time but didn't think I would have a problem. There was some paper-based trash already in the stove, waiting to be burnt, so I put some thin sticks on it and set a match to it.
From there on in things got on a downhill roller coaster. Some smoke started coming out of the rings on top of the stove. I opened the door to the ashtray wider, hoping for an updraft. I could hope all night because I wasn't getting one. The smoke, dense and dark grey, got worse. The paper was burning just fine, but the chimney didn't want any part of this.
I unscrewed the lower door that led to the chimney and tried to create an updraft burning newspaper just inside it. Not with all the smoke pouring out of there. The newspaper burned, but that was it. I looked around and all I could see was a thick London fog. I looked back at the stove. In the last few days since the last time it was lit, could a bird have decided to bomb the chimney with something and block it up? That's what it was looking like more and more. I got the last cat out of the kitchen. The others weren't as oblivious to the fact that they couldn't breathe well and had already scampered to other rooms of the house. I closed the kitchen door and opened all the windows. I opened the stove door and placed a cube of solid fuel under the sticks. I lit it, and an angel of a tiny breeze must have passed by the chimney at that moment and created an updraft. Smoke stopped escaping into the kitchen and started going up the chimney. My problem was solved. Almost.
I left the kitchen and had to wait almost an hour before entering. The night was still and there was no breeze to dispell the smoke. It was just hanging there, with no reason to leave. Finally, however, it did, but the house still smells of smoke today. When my husband came home and I told him about my adventure with the stove he repeated what he always told me. That no way would anyone ever accuse me of pyromania. Lighting a wood fire is not one of my skills.
From there on in things got on a downhill roller coaster. Some smoke started coming out of the rings on top of the stove. I opened the door to the ashtray wider, hoping for an updraft. I could hope all night because I wasn't getting one. The smoke, dense and dark grey, got worse. The paper was burning just fine, but the chimney didn't want any part of this.
I unscrewed the lower door that led to the chimney and tried to create an updraft burning newspaper just inside it. Not with all the smoke pouring out of there. The newspaper burned, but that was it. I looked around and all I could see was a thick London fog. I looked back at the stove. In the last few days since the last time it was lit, could a bird have decided to bomb the chimney with something and block it up? That's what it was looking like more and more. I got the last cat out of the kitchen. The others weren't as oblivious to the fact that they couldn't breathe well and had already scampered to other rooms of the house. I closed the kitchen door and opened all the windows. I opened the stove door and placed a cube of solid fuel under the sticks. I lit it, and an angel of a tiny breeze must have passed by the chimney at that moment and created an updraft. Smoke stopped escaping into the kitchen and started going up the chimney. My problem was solved. Almost.
I left the kitchen and had to wait almost an hour before entering. The night was still and there was no breeze to dispell the smoke. It was just hanging there, with no reason to leave. Finally, however, it did, but the house still smells of smoke today. When my husband came home and I told him about my adventure with the stove he repeated what he always told me. That no way would anyone ever accuse me of pyromania. Lighting a wood fire is not one of my skills.
Comments
Post a Comment