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.  

            What—spring already? No, it’s too early, but that’s not what it feels like. The air seems to have a different quality to it, even though it’s still chilly—especially at night. The grass is greening up the canyon and the birds are beginning to carry on, acting as if they too believe it to be so. The narcissus flowers are blooming late this year, the figs went on and on last fall, the first rains of the season hinted toward a wet year… Everything is whack-a-doodle.

            If the nature in our area is indeed pressing forward prematurely, what does that mean for us? Do we scramble to catch up (spring cleaning instead of hibernating) and get ready in advance? Or is there a benefit to just chilling out—chillaxing as my grandson calls it? Jump or procrastinate?

            Over the last two years, with the whole world turning upside down, it has proved helpful to me to read books such as Jane Goodall’s The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times, for a renewed perspective. Some of us have forged new paths while others have slammed on the brakes, and many have made other choices (either conscious or unconscious). I suppose most of us fit into this last category. But we must remember, life is a dance—part choreography, part freestyle.

            During this pandemic so many of our plans have been put off. I, all of a sudden, wonder if this is somehow, in some way, comforting to those procrastinators out there. I, on the other hand, am the opposite of that, TO A FAULT, so it has not been at all comfortable to me. So, I’ve had to look long and hard at my shortcomings and work like mad to try to find (make) peace and take ownership of my own feelings and what I do with them. The only thing within my power is how I react to things and whether or not I place my best foot forward. Stop, breathe, and smile.

            I was so sad to hear of Thich Nhat Hanh’s passing last week. The world lost a wonderful soul. His Zen teachings can be felt around the world and have helped to make this a better place. Even if you’ve never heard of him, you’re bound to have run across someone who has. I feel fortunate to have met and walked with him, up and down steep terrain, and meditated with the Deer Park community. The message of peace, love and compassion will go on in spite of the chaos and turmoil that abound. We have a choice in the way we respond to each other and the events around us. It really is up to all of us.

            The dance of life goes on; the birds sing and make nests. That’s their choreography. How they go about it—that’s freestyle. When I choreographed the ballets for The Dance Centre, after selecting the music and analyzing the phrasing and meter of each piece, the muse would eventually emerge and enable the dance to come forward. Then came the transference of movements to the dancers’ bodies. It didn’t stop there. Each would put his or her own personality into the role to make it their own. And then that interplay which happened between characters comingled and created something new. I believe the ballets became both: part choreography and part freestyle.

            Going back to procrastination versus jumping—what’s early for some is clearly late for others. As a kid, I would do my homework on the bus ride home just so I could be finished and done with it. I certainly didn’t want that hanging over my head all afternoon. My sister, on the other hand, would wait until right before bed and drag out the work, making it difficult for her to get up on time the next morning. I loved early mornings and still do. These opposing character traits are still with us today, although we both have edged closer to the middle way. It feels more balanced.

            So, whatever your leaning, just remember: Life is a dance—part choreography, part freestyle. Let’s enjoy both and hopefully live as balanced a life as we can. Perhaps I’ll see you around town as I seesaw between errands, work, and play.

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.

          Finally, we’re getting the rain we’ve all been waiting for. After a long dusty spring, summer and fall, the heavens have opened up and showered down their glory. I’ll take it, alongside every plant, animal and mineral around. And we accept it gratefully.

            But let me say here how much I strongly dislike the cold. I’m sure some of you don’t think it’s all that chilly, but I beg to differ. My whole skeletal system shakes and shivers this time of year and I start fantasizing about getting away to the Caribbean or Hawaii or Costa Rica… Just the thought warms me right up. I know I’m a wimp when it comes to these frosty mornings, but I also recognize that in a few weeks I’ll begin to acclimate—a little bit anyway. And for the time being, at least while it’s pouring outside, I’ll take this brief respite from outside chores (except when it’s time to go feed the animals) to sit by the fire and write.

          Ahh, the luxury of warmth, the pitter patter of raindrops on a metal roof, a cat snoring nearby… Woops, I spoke too soon. It’s really coming down now. I’d better go trench and mound-up some crucial spots in the dirt road so it doesn’t completely wash away our only route in or out. There goes my attempt at hibernation, even if it was only going to last a couple hours.

          Back again, clothes saturated, hair dripping wet… But the dog had a great time: jumping over the creek, running circles around us, flushing out who-knows-what in the bushes… These little happies are what sustain us, aren’t they? Whether it’s vicarious pleasure such as watching the dog frolic and play or catching your grandchild’s eyes light up when they see you. It’s often the small things that really make our day. A chance meeting with a stranger in the hardware store, and after a snippet of conversation, we find out that both of us are trying to work out kinks in a similar project. What about those special friends who take time out of their busy schedule to make prayer flags for me to mark our trail up the mountain? Or when we take the opportunity to give something of ourselves when it’s not expected? Sometimes a completely random comment comes our way and makes us stop and think and smile. It’s just what we needed at the time.

(Many days and rainstorms later)

            Well, it’s time to go out and feed the critters. I’m sure they’re wondering what’s taking so long. My horse will whinny when she sees me coming (because it’s dinner time). But it still feels good to be appreciated—one way or another. And now with Christmas here and gone, I’ll set my sights on the new year and try to be present enough to recognize those little happies when they present themselves. In fact, I’m going to try to create a few of those for some of you when we happen to cross paths. A kind word, a helping hand, a good joke…

          This year, tomorrow, even right now, I raise my glass— “Cheers” to you. Let’s appreciate all the little happies which abound. Happy New Year!

Chi Varnado has four newly 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.