He Didn't Burn Wood Anymore

We cut this wood from trees that once stood along the lane to his old pasture, and stacked it along the fence. We would have stacked it outside of his door, but he didn't burn wood anymore.

He had acres and more acres of wood, and an excellent stove that he had burned his own wood in for decades. But no more, as his insurance company pretty much forbid him to keep a fire. They said it was too risky.

An old man without a fire, and with wood to burn.

My Grandfather didn't live long after that, no wood to cut, carry and stack. No ashes to spread over the garden on those snow covered winter days. His axe was a part of him, and his woods were a part of his life too. And that old stove was surely the center of his existence.

Grandma had her chair, and sat at a distance from the stove that was comfortable for her. The grandchildren, and their children had their on comfortable spots too. We played at our Grandparents feet, and learned to respect that old man's authority over his stove, that farm and our family. It was a most natural order of life. And it's end seemed so unnatural, when he was forbidden to have a fire in his own home.

Our home, and our family lost it's flame soon after.