Few things are as satisfying as a roaring fire on a cold night, perhaps with a fine snifter of brandy and some great company, to boot. Why is that?
After all, fire is pretty elementary and ordinary. Man’s conquest of fire is so ancient that we have no idea how or when it happened, although every society has a fire-mastery myth. And all fire does is provide light (not really that much) and heat (not very efficiently).
When we lived in northern climes, we had a wooded lot, full of pine, oak, and beech. Courtesy of Hurricane Isabel in 2003, we had a huge wall of logs which lapped the perimeter of our lot, and probably is still not entirely dissipated. The trees provided plenty of kindling, and we had a real, old-fashioned fireplace in the family room. Starting early in the fall, I would begin to gather and stack the wood closer to the house, and identify a great pile of kindling. Given the nearly unending supply of firewood, we had a fire most evenings. Later on, we had gas fireplaces, which look just fine and produce some heat, but just missed that “something.”
Fast forward to our life on Mexico, and I figured our nights of roaring fires were all behind us. We have a real fireplace (chimney but no flue), but it is gas-fed. Certainly it never gets cold enough to justify a fire. The last few weeks we have had overnight temperatures in the 40’s, but seriously, folks, that’s not fireplace weather.
Our fireplace looked odd with just a gas pipe sticking out. We looked at gas fireplace logs, but they were ugly, and crazy expensive (perhaps an import thing?) So after almost two years of staring at it, we finally decided to get a real firewood grate. We had a local ferretero (iron smith) come by and take down the measurements and design, and he delivered a custom one.
Since Mexicans like a good holiday fire as much as anyone–and they consider 50 degrees to be essentially freezing–this is the season for road-side stands selling all kinds of firewood. Now we are back in the business of roaring fires, if only for a few weeks.
Despite the past experience, I have no special skill when it comes to starting a fire. And I’m not opposed to twisting the gas handle if the fire is slow to take. After all, I’m not in fear of freezing to death, like the protagonist of Jack London’s great short story (go ahead, go read it now), from whom I borrowed the title of this post. I just know what I like: the crackle and the hiss, the warm glow, the wisp of aromatic wood.
You have to love a good fire.