Tonight when evening fell, it was chilly in the house. There was cloud cover coming in over the mountains, and it gave us a beautiful sunset.
We lit the first fire of the season this evening. We had firewood delivered late in the winter last year, in February, after we'd burned our stash down to the last logs. The spring was warm, so we held a lot of firewood over the summer. Our firewood seller is a local woman who calls each year to see when we need a new load.
I'm good at starting fires in the fireplace. My dad taught me how to lay the logs on the grate just so, and how to light wadded newspaper beneath them to get a fast, hot fire that draws through the stacked logs.
This is the third house I've had my name on - the first was my tiny bachelorette cottage; the second was the Just-Had-a-Baby house, and this is our Recruited-to-LA house. It's the first house with a fireplace.
I like to sit on the raised slate hearth and warm my back in front of the fire. The first fire in the fireplace marks the beginning of winter for me.