The Old Wood Stove

        Part of the magic of visiting my grandparents on their farm when I was a child was that in cold weather we stayed warm by way of a huge wood burning stove. They didn’t have central heat in the old farmhouse. By the time I came along they did have small space heaters fueled by propane, but those were not left on unless you were in the room or in during the evening and even then we turned them off at bedtime. But the big stove in the living room was kept going pretty much from the first cold snap of the year until warm weather returned sometime around April. My grandfather would keep the stove going unless he was out working in the fields or with the cows and it fell to my grandmother to keep it going. By the time I was about 6 or 7 I was old enough to feed the fire and do my part. During the night Grandpa would bank the fire and then get up every couple of hours to add some more wood.
One of the best parts of being the youngest and only boy of my family was that when we visited for a weekend I slept on the sleeper sofa in the living room. The old stove had a glass window in the door so that you could see how the fire was without having to open the door. I used to love to lay there after all the lights were out and everyone was going to sleep and I would just stare at that fire. Before long I would doze off and the only time I would awaken was if I absolutely had to make a trip to the bathroom. Even with socks on the linoleum floors were like walking on ice barefoot and the bathroom was all the way in the back of the house. It was added onto the house sometime in the 40’s and you had to walk through a screened porch to get to it. So, it was cold and then some.
Well, thinking back on that old stove and the countless fires we had in it over the years I realized something about love. Stay with me on this and you’ll understand in a moment or two. It occurs to me that the fire in that old wood stove is a great metaphor to describe the love between a man and a woman. I guess you can call it “romantic” love, but after a few years it’s much more than that. So let me explain.
The fire gets started with some kindling and a match or two. Perhaps some old newspaper wadded up underneath some twigs and small switches. The fire would begin with some smoke coming up from under the pile of kindling. As we all know by now, where there’s smoke there’s fire. Maybe a young couple meet and are both intrigued by the other. Enter “the match”. And then . . . Smoke. Before long flames leap up from the pile of kindling and the romance starts to burn brighter and brighter. Now, if you don’t add some more fuel the fire goes out. Right? Some romances end at this point because fuel isn’t added to the fire. What fuel you ask? Tenderness, laughter, holding hands, talking, and being together all make for excellent fuel.
Now the fire really starts to heat up. Passion and desire, longing for each other when apart - you know the longing I mean? The kind where your chest literally hurts when you part. That sharp ache inside that feels so good because it hurts so bad. The flames are strong and bold and all consuming. It’s usually about this time that the young couple start dreaming and talking of spending life together. They talk of having a family. They speak from their hearts of building something together that will be lasting and then they become one. They join their lives together and the fire is rich and young and alive with the promise of the future that they will share.
As time passes the fire must be banked if it is to stay alive. More fuel must be added as the years go by - fuel such as children and the feeling that the two are making something that is ordained by God and that their love is no longer a momentary blaze that will burn itself out too soon.
More time passes and though there are periods when the fire seems to cool, one needs only to stir the coals and blow upon them and they turn bright orange and red with a heat that has become so much more than romantic love. It has become the comforting warmth of companionship. Evening walks, hand in hand, down sidewalks or country roads that allow for the conversations that only a couple who have spent their lives together can know or understand. They finish each others sentences and laugh at something that nobody else in the room gets. Smiles shared with a twinkle in their eyes over a memory that only the two share. These are the days that the flames may not show themselves, but the warmth is unmistakable.
Finally, as the years wind down the two love each other more than mere words can describe. Perhaps the passion is buried and the flames no longer consume with the voracious appetite that they once did, but the fire is still there within their hearts. There until one must leave the other behind. It is the way of life. But the good news is the love keeps on after they are both gone. It is alive in their children and grand-children and great-grandchildren.
Well, maybe that’s a lot to consider when thinking back on an old iron wood stove that I once knew. But then again, maybe not.