I Make Fire

Since the onset of cold, we've been making fire. Naturally.

Most houses in Moldova run on wood/coal burning water boiler systems called Sobas. My family, being rather well off, has two with great systems of pipes and radiators. The main part, however, is a giant, porceline tile wall with a fairy tale-esque stove top and two openings for fuel. The openings are stacked one on the other, separated by a grate. The top is where you stick all your fuel, the bottom collects all the ash. Yep, straightforward. I know, I know... You're thinking -- "oh that Erika, she's a super fire chick. Been making fires since she was knee high to a bumble bee (or whatever the phrase is). She was a girl scout and her dad a park ranger. Obviously she's been helping make such straight forward fires!"

And you'd be dead wrong.

Nope. Maria, my host mother and fire tender, cook and maid (she will forcibly clean my room sometimes while I teach. It really gets me going.... gr.), will not let me help with fire ever. I am a teacher and cannot afford to get dirty. Teachers must be frumos (beautiful).

But I love making fires! Its so creative! Look at all that creation and destruction at once! and its useful! and necessary! and -- to boot -- it's damned pretty!

I am an artist! I need to help make fire!

Nope.

Until today. Today, Maria and Laurentiu (host dad will make fire if Maria is absent and he gets cold enough) were both gone!

So I copied all the steps:

Clean yesterday's ashes out.

Collect:

Sawdust soaked in lighter fluid.

Old cracker boxes

Corn cobs from the animal yard out back

Little chunks and flakes of wood

Bigger chunks of wood

Stack in a nice aireated manner

Light.

Close door.

Maria was so surprised! She laughed at my dirtiness and has left me in charge of my own soba in my room. I am so proud.

Moral: Observe until left alone and enact!