|The finished wood-fired pizza oven!|
Yesterday my husband Dan asked, “Do you even know how to make a fire??”
Me: “I’ve been making fire since before we even met.”
True enough, we had a wood-fired furnace on the first floor of the house I grew up in, underneath the bedroom my sister and I shared.
It was the only heat source in that part of the house, which once served as post office for the town of Bakersfield, later as a consignment shop, and after that as an apartment for my Dad’s mom.
Last night I stayed up all night, keeping a fire burning inside of the wood-fired pizza oven in order to cure it.
The entire process takes seven days, increasing the temperature every 24 hours.
About 1 a.m. I went out to stoke it.
I noted the new solar lights that line the path were not working (bummer)
Threw a couple sticks of hardwood on the coals.
That came from under the fir tree four feet away. Not alarming, and oddly familiar.
This time it sounded from under the oven, near my ankles.
Have a listen. (You will probably have to cut and paste, the link doesn't work for me.)
I ran back to the house– and if you know me at all -with the ticky knee, broken footitis, and general clumsiness – my version of running is – hilarious - if my husband is describing it.
Safely inside, a cat threw up somewhere in the dark.
I took a look at the solar fairy lights at sunup and discovered: the on-off switch.
Not going outside in the dark, ever again.