Daglan lies in the Périgord Noir — what could be called the Black Forest of the Dordogne. Good thing too, considering how rapidly we are decimating the area’s supply of firewood. Fortunately, wood is a renewable resource, so I don’t feel so bad that our carbon footprint is approximately the size of Oklahoma.
In early October of last year, we had our first delivery of firewood, and figured it could last for quite a while. Wrong.
By late November, the first shipment was gone, and it was time to stock up again. As I reported on November 27, in my post “And so it begins…” we were experiencing our first light snow, and we had taken delivery of twice the amount of firewood that we’d ordered in October. Here’s how our garage looked, less than two months ago:
But then came a run of fairly cold weather, and our fireplace was kept busy. By early last week, here’s how the garage looked:
This past Friday (January 7), we took delivery of yet another four cubic metres of firewood, cut to a maximum length of 40 centimetres (I realize that this is getting awfully technical; you may want to have a nap before continuing). The pile in front of our garage looked like this:
The delivery man assured us that, although the wood seemed wet, it had actually been dried for two years and would be suitable for immediate use. We shall see. In the short term, we had to move it all into the garage, and stack it in two neat rows, balanced on lumber that I’d salvaged from the crates that our movers had used to ship our paintings from Toronto. I’m delighted to say that my wife Jan and I accomplished this in just an hour and 15 minutes, with the only casualty being her left shin, which now sports a large bruise where she got whacked with a log. Here it is (the firewood, silly, not her shin):
With that accomplished, it was time to reward our hard work. And so off we went to Sarlat, for a bit of shopping and — wait for it — yes, a nice lunch!