When I was eleven, my parents bought a farmhouse, a century-old home whose age was most apparent in winter. From October through April, keeping the wood-burning furnace going consumed much of our time and attention. We learned quickly it was easier to keep the fire burning than to light a flame when the air was frigid.

But tending the furnace took careful preparation.

Every fall before the chill creeped in, my dad would bring a truckload of wood to the back of the house next to a secret basement entryway. The door was accessible from outside and barely big enough for me to squeeze my body through once the wood was stacked, and climbing through that portal was our reward. My brother and I spent hours tossing firewood through the tiny metal door down into the basement, where my dad waited to stack it neatly.

When the job was done, we eagerly got down on our bellies and shimmied through the door, dropping into the dimly lit basement. The black, cast-iron beast-of-a-furnace stood in the center of the cinder block walls, steadfast and ready for its winter task.

Dad didn’t light the fire until the cold was no longer bearable, because getting it started was always a chore. Plus, we knew that once the furnace was lit, we needed to keep it fed.

Throwing another log on the flame was fun at first. I liked to imagine we were pioneers. But by February, the magic wore off, and the task turned tedious. Instead of fighting over who got to throw another log on the flame, we bickered over who would have to venture into the bowels of our home. More than once, we let it die, and while I don’t recall how my parents reignited the flame, I remember their panic.

Eventually, mom and dad had enough of the old furnace and converted our home to more modern heating, and we celebrated our new fancy and reliable heat.

While nearly 30 years have passed and I have a tendency to romanticize my childhood, I am grateful for that old furnace, for what I learned not only about hard work but about what it takes to keep a flame a-going. Because furnace or no furnace, I won’t soon forget that while a spark can get us started, fires must be fed to stay alive.

Note: This story was originally shared as part of the hope*writers Instagram Writing challenge (link to post).

Feature image by June O via unsplash

Feeding the Furnace