Out with the old, in with the new? Uh, not so fast—at least not with everything. Even though our old Model A truck had gone through the Cedar Fire, my dad insisted that he was going to get it running again. I had serious doubts about that. I just wanted to use it as a planter for a bed of beautiful flowers. But I rounded up a couple of friends to help him move it further up the canyon where he wanted it—where over the years it rusted and fell apart even more than it was. He never did get around to fixing it.
          Almost two decades later, I paid some guys with a trailer to bring it back down here to its next resting place: as yard art—backed into the bushes down by the gate. This whole process feels similar to our own aging. If we’re lucky to live long enough, we, ourselves, must make choices about how we adapt to our changing circumstances. Some resign to the recliner and take an increasing number of pharmaceutical drugs; a few push forward while attempting to exercise more than what might be good for them; others continuously adjust to their unpredictable situations and try to make do… I sometimes wonder how much fight is actually good for us.

          I suppose I’m a little like the old Model A truck, repurposing myself as I go along—but probably still working too hard. Members of our generation may indeed be fading, but I do think we still have ideas to contribute as our younger brothers and sisters take over. They’ve grown up in the age of technology and can probably assess some things better than us. We can offer advice, stemming from simply living more years than them, as long as it doesn’t come with the outdated notion: Well, it’s always been done that way, therefore it’s tried and true.

          But, as with our evolving physical bodies, the world must also address continuous change. Everything effects everything. For every action there is a reaction whether or not we can see it with our own eyes or experience it in our own lifetimes. Overpopulation, pollution, rising sea levels… Some of our current practices are not sustainable in the long run.

          I personally love a lot of the old things like Model A’s, World War II airplanes (they fascinate me), antiques, horse and buggy stuff… But each of these things has had to take a back seat to new developments which ease burdens as the population grows. And sadly, I believe the era of each and every one of us owning our own car and going wherever we want to go, whenever we want to go, isn’t going to work forever. Rising gas prices curb some of this naturally. Yes, our cars are still necessary, but perhaps we should each start looking toward practices that can help solve some of our current problems, yet not add more toxic fallout to our future. Let’s try to be forward thinking about this.

          My family has lived in San Diego County for seven generations and I’m a native Ramonan. I was here when the first stop light came to town, the first chain restaurant, the change from cement to asphalt roads, the widening and rewidening of the highway… It’s this last item that does not sit right with me—for the sake of our community or the environment.

          Folks want to go faster and faster and get impatient and rude when they can’t. It’s no wonder so many accidents happen on that road. Perhaps the time has come to address the issue with forward thinking. Much of the rest of the developed world is light years ahead of us on this. Instead of widening the highway again and again, run a light rail line down the center (or along the side) that connects to other communities. We could still choose to drive our beloved cars on days we need to, but the transit system could serve us well.

          Yes, this would be expensive, but everything costs a lot. Instead of putting a bigger and bigger bandage on this growing problem, let’s take care of the larger issue and move forward. Anything new takes time to adjust to. Can’t we at least start now?

Chi Varnado has four recently published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.  

          Who hasn’t been mesmerized by the dancing flames of a well-laid fire? But for me the real beauty is the radiant warmth, seeping into every pore of my skin, enveloping my grateful soul, and thawing out these chilly bones. There is absolutely nothing like it. Forced air heat doesn’t even compare to the kind that really warms through and through, and that’s worth a lot on these freezing days and nights. As I sit here beside my blazing wood-burning stove on this rainy February afternoon, please allow me to reveal how it came to be.
          In the predawn hours I fetch the metal bucket from the porch and methodically scoop out the warm ashes from last night. There are still a few coals hiding within so I’m careful to leave those to help ignite today’s flame. I must work quickly, yet smoothly, so as little smoke as possible escapes into the house. The upstairs windows above have already been opened and the ceiling fan turned on to send the cough-inducing vapors outside. And yes, I do this even when it’s below freezing because, as we all know, our health is everything.

This process reminds me a little of spring cleaning and our continual struggle to get rid of the clutter. Or trying to stay ahead of the game by dealing with the old before bringing in the new. It’s not always as easy as simply renting a dumpster and being done with it. The act of sorting through and determining what to recycle, what to donate—and to where, while adding as little as possible to the landfill. So—our ashes ultimately get composted in various ways: become fertilizer with the goat droppings, sprinkled into the outhouse pit to counteract odors, or used as pretend flour by the grandkids to make cakes and muffins at their little cooking table in our playground.

            Once the bucket of ashes is outside, I scoop up an armload of eucalyptus bark with dry kindling on top, from our wood station by the front door. This is then placed in front of the stove. From the basket nearby, the ‘starter kit’, I separate papers and roll them tightly and add cardboard or an old stained egg carton or tissue box. Now it’s time to move quickly: open stove door, layer in paper items, cover with bark and kindling, and shut the chamber tightly. At this point, I add slightly larger sticks through the side door to give the fire more fuel while I blow on it. Then—hopefully—success.

            Watching, anticipating… But we all know that, “a watched pot never boils.” So, as we look forward to something we must also try to enjoy what we are doing right now. I’m creating art. The kind that consumes itself instead of taking up space later. And it occurs to me that this is not unlike the profession I chose—dance. It also takes place in the present and is not a tangible thing.

            Bigger wood is brought in and set around the rock hearth to dry and be ready for the periodic morning feedings of the fire. The kettle on top of the stove, to humidify the drying air in the house, is refilled. After my morning workout the upstairs windows are closed, the ceiling fan turned off, and the house warms.

            We can call these types of things simple pleasures, but they actually are much more labor intensive and messy than just flipping a switch. But what really makes life worth living anyway? Convenience? Hardly—or else we’d never have children or make any desserts from scratch. I think it’s the things we choose to do well, and thoughtfully, no matter how mundane they may seem to someone else.

            To me, laying a good fire is art in action. And being present with each step allows me to practice my Zen and mindfulness. Okay, and perhaps indulge a little OCD behavior along with it. So, here’s to finding your true art and what makes your life worthwhile and whole.

Chi Varnado has four recently published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail, are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.