House-Warming

nnysideofthehouse,IplayedaboutthestumpswhichIhadgotoutofmybean-field.AsmydriverprophesiedwhenIwasploughing,theywarmedmetwice,oncewhileIwassplittingthem,andagainwhentheywereonthefire,sothatnofuelcouldgiveoutmoreheat.Asfortheaxe,Iwasadvisedtogetthevillageblacksmithto“jump”itbutIjumpedhim,and,puttingahickoryhelvefromthewoodsintoit,madeitdo.Ifitwasdull,itwasatleasthungtrue. Afewpiecesoffatpinewereagreattreasure.Itisinterestingtorememberhowmuchofthisfoodforfireisstillconcealedinthebowelsoftheearth.InpreviousyearsIhadoftengone“prospecting”oversomebarehill-side,whereapitch-pinewoodhadformerlystood,andgotoutthefatpineroots.Theyarealmostindestructible.Stumpsthirtyorfortyyearsold,atleast,willstillbesoundatthecore,thoughthesapwoodhasallbecomevegetablemould,asappearsbythescalesofthethickbarkformingaringlevelwiththeearthfourorfiveinchesdistantfromtheheart.Withaxeandshovelyouexplorethismine,andfollowthemarrowystore,yellowasbeeftallow,orasifyouhadstruckonaveinofgold,deepintotheearth.ButcommonlyIkindledmyfirewiththedryleavesoftheforest,whichIhadstoredupinmyshedbeforethesnowcame.Greenhickoryfinelysplitmakesthewoodchopper’skindlings,whenhehasacampinthewoods.OnceinawhileIgotalittleofthis.Whenthevillagerswerelightingtheirfiresbeyondthehorizon,ItoogavenoticetothevariouswildinhabitantsofWaldenvale,byasmokystreamerfrommychimney,thatIwasawake.— Light-wingedSmoke,Icarianbird, Meltingthypinionsinthyupwardflight, Larkwithoutsong,andmessengerofdawn, Circlingabovethehamletsasthynest Orelse,departingdream,andshadowyform Ofmidnightvision,gatheringupthyskirts Bynightstar-veiling,andbyday Darkeningthelightandblottingoutthesun Gothoumyincenseupwardfromthishearth, Andaskthegodstopardonthisclearflame. Hardgreenwoodjustcut,thoughIusedbutlittleofthat,answeredmypurposebetterthananyother.IsometimesleftagoodfirewhenIwenttotakeawalkinawinterafternoonandwhenIreturned,threeorfourhoursafterward,itwouldbestillaliveandglowing.MyhousewasnotemptythoughIwasgone.ItwasasifIhadleftacheerfulhousekeeperbehind.ItwasIandFirethatlivedthereandcommonlymyhousekeeperprovedtrustworthy.Oneday,however,asIwassplittingwood,IthoughtthatIwouldjustlookinatthewindowandseeifthehousewasnotonfireitwastheonlytimeIremembertohavebeenparticularlyanxiousonthisscoresoIlookedandsawthatasparkhadcaughtmybed,andIwentinandextinguisheditwhenithadburnedaplaceasbigasmyhand.Butmyhouseoccupiedsosunnyandshelteredaposition,anditsroofwassolow,thatIcouldaffordtoletthefiregooutinthemiddleofalmostanywinterday. Themolesnestedinmycellar,nibblingeverythirdpotato,andmakingasnugbedeventhereofsomehairleftafterplasteringandofbrownpaperforeventhewildestanimalslovecomfortandwarmthaswellasman,andtheysurvivethewinteronlybecausetheyaresocarefultosecurethem.SomeofmyfriendsspokeasifIwascomingtothewoodsonpurposetofreezemyself.Theanimalmerelymakesabed,whichhewarmswithhisbody,inashelteredplacebutman,havingdiscoveredfire,boxesupsomeairinaspaciousapartment,andwarmsthat,insteadofrobbinghimself,makesthathisbed,inwhichhecanmoveaboutdivestedofmorecumbrousclothing,maintainakindofsummerinthemidstofwinter,andbymeansofwindowsevenadmitthelight,andwithalamplengthenouttheday.Thushegoesasteportwobeyondinstinct,andsavesalittletimeforthefinearts.Though,whenIhadbeenexposedtotherudestblastsalongtime,mywholebodybegantogrowtorpid,whenIreachedthegenialatmosphereofmyhouseIsoonrecoveredmyfacultiesandprolongedmylife.Butthemostluxuriouslyhousedhaslittletoboastofinthisrespect,norneedwetroubleourselvestospeculatehowthehumanracemaybeatlastdestroyed.Itwouldbeeasytocuttheirthreadsanytimewithalittlesharperblastfromthenorth.WegoondatingfromColdFridaysandGreatSnowsbutalittlecolderFriday,orgreatersnow,wouldputaperiodtoman’sexistenceontheglobe. ThenextwinterIusedasmallcooking-stoveforeconomy,sinceIdidnotowntheforestbutitdidnotkeepfiresowellastheopenfire-place.Cookingwasthen,forthemostpart,nolongerapoetic,butmerelyachemicprocess.Itwillsoonbeforgotten,inthesedaysofstoves,thatweusedtoroastpotatoesintheashes,aftertheIndianfashion.Thestovenotonlytookuproomandscentedthehouse,butitconcealedthefire,andIfeltasifIhadlostacompanion.Youcanalwaysseeafaceinthefire.Thelaborer,lookingintoitatevening,purifieshisthoughtsofthedrossandearthinesswhichtheyhaveaccumulatedduringtheday.ButIcouldnolongersitandlookintothefire,andthepertinentwordsofapoetrecurredtomewithnewforce.— “Never,brightflame,maybedeniedtome Thydear,lifeimaging,closesympathy. Whatbutmyhopesshotupwarde’ersobright? Whatbutmyfortunessunksolowinnight? Whyartthoubanishedfromourhearthandhall, Thouwhoartwelcomedandbelovedbyall? Wasthyexistencethentoofanciful Forourlife’scommonlight,whoaresodull? Didthybrightgleammysteriousconversehold Withourcongenialsouls?secretstoobold? Well,wearesafeandstrong,fornowwesit Besideahearthwherenodimshadowsflit, Wherenothingcheersnorsaddens,butafire Warmsfeetandhands—nordoestomoreaspire Bywhosecompactutilitarianheap Thepresentmaysitdownandgotosleep, Norfeartheghostswhofromthedimpastwalked, Andwithusbytheunequallightoftheoldwoodfiretalked.”