Fires and a bit more...

Even before I started trying to get better at using my cameras, I loved to take photos of my fires.  Mostly, because I love having fires.  This is my third season of having fires and I am still not used to the thought that I have my own fireplace and can have fires whenever I want.

The first fire is always the hardest to build, because I do not have a good ash base from which to work.  Plus, it appears I need a hood on my chimney because I have had both birds and rain make their way into my house through this opening in my roof.  One particular rainstorm seems to have cleaned out the chimney a bit, because I had a large pile of sparkling soot after it was over and everything dried out.  So, first I cleaned out fireplace and then set about building a file.  

I have posted about the fire-starters my realtor's husband taught me to make.  You take the bottom of a paper egg carton, fill the cups with sawdust, and then top them off with melted wax.  Once the wax has hardened, you cut apart the twelve cups to create the fire-starters.  He regularly buys old candles at garage sales for his fire starters.  They keep a steady flame going as the wood catches fire.

An idea for slower burning kindling to go with the fire-starter I had at the end of fire season last year involves toilet paper cardboard tubes.  I take one toilet paper tube, fold it in half length-wise, and then stick it into a second toilet paper tube.  I then will fold and stick in another tube and another and another.  I can get about six toilet paper tubes inside a seventh.  So, I am basically left with a piece of cardboard "wood."  I saved and stuffed toilet paper tubes all summer long and used two of them on last night's fire.

The way I build a fire (once I have an ash bed), is to crumple up paper scraps, junk mail, and torn paperboard (like from the Honey Nut Chex cereal boxes and Dr Pepper cartons) and place it on the ash base.  I will also toss in pieces of bark that have fallen off the wood.  And, as I noted, I have added the stuffed toilet paper tubes to my arsenal of non-wood kindling.  Then, I put a eggfire-starter in the middle of it.  Directly above the fire-starter, I place a piece of kindling wood, something that is barkless on at least two sides and is about the size of a paper towel center tube.  Often, my kindling has been left over scraps of wood from the various projects about the house.  Then, I place two pieces of wood on either side of the kindling.  The next layer is two pieces of wood stacked in the opposite direction.  And then the third layer of wood is another two pieces stacked in the same direction as the bottom layer.  Using this method, I can light the crumbled kindling and walk away.  In less than two minutes, I will have roaring flames strong enough and sustaining enough to catch all the wood on fire before the kindling is burnt up.  One of the best moments of my fires is the Great Collapse, in which the initial stack of wood has burned to the point where it breaks apart, falls down, and sends a great shower of sparks upward.

At this point, I will also note that I have become quite skilled at banking coals.  Basically, before the bed of coals begins to cool down after the last piece of wood has broken into pieces, I with take all the ash from the sides of the fireplace and pile it up in the center, to bury the still-glowing coals.  If the ash is thick enough, I can keep coals alive for up to approximately 18 hours.  If I am starting with banked coals, I do not use an egg carton fire-starter.  Instead, I spread out the ash to expose the coals and to ensure there is enough space between the ash base and kindling base for a flow of air to pull the flames upward and then pile on the paper kindling and finish creating my stack of wood.

Of course, my 1920 fireplace has what the chimney service guy said was a "wicked updraft," which helps in the fire-building process.  There is no flue.  The weird thing is that when the air is cold, a pocket or bubble of cold air will be near the bottom of the chimney.  So, the chimney service guy told me I should light a roll of paper and stick it up the chimney to "pop" the bubble so that the chimney will start drawing the smoke upward.  Because I am lazy, I pop the bubble with the fireplace lighter I have.  I've even stuck my hand up inside with a Bic lighter a workman once left behind.  Either is sufficient and is less of a hassle than rolling paper into a tube, lighting it, and using that to pop the cold air bubble.

Last night, I forgot to pop the bubble, so I had much smoke rolling inside before I remembered to do so.  Eventually, the fire would have done so, but not before a colossal amount of smoke filled my living room.

Anyway, when I have a bare surface, I have found that I have to keep feeding the kindling pile new bits of paper and paperboard and such to build up a bit of a faux ash base.  I did add some of the wood scraps, because I kept every scrap of wood that was used in every project over the past year.  I even have round circles from where the closet rods were trimmed to fit.  Those scraps of raw lumber burn quickly, but they produce a strong flame.  So, last night, I had to use several bits of scrap wood, an entire cereal box, and my last church newsletter before I could see that the fire would hold.  Then, I had a fire from about six in the evening until about 2 in the morning.  Bliss.

I used my small tripod to take the photos, setting it up directly in front of the fire, but far enough back so the camera would not get too hot.  What I noticed right away was that weird glow in the center.  Thinking about it now, I am wondering if this is because I forgot to remove the polarizing filter or if it was from the settings I was used.

I have antique andirons instead of a grate for the wood. I wish that I could have captured them as well as the fire, but I was also trying to take photos without using flash.

The next three photos are a set of bracketed photos.  

In this set, I think that I prefer either the original setting one (the middle) or the overexposed one (the third one).  These were all taken with a smaller aperture setting to let in a greater amount of light.  My friend Caryl helped me understand that I need to think opposite about the numbers.  A greater number is smaller opening.  Though ... I wish someone would have asked me about the logic of that.  If I were making up setting numbers, I would have a larger number mean a larger opening and a greater amount of light.

This next bracketed set was done while focusing on shutter speed.  Nearly all of the photos were either completely black or had the merest speck of fire.  These were taken on the fastest shutter speed possible.

I deleted all of the rest, but I sort of liked this "barely there" version of the fire.  However, after seeing the results, I went back to focusing on aperture.

I wish I could understand what was making the whole hazy middle thing.  I also wish I could capture the shooting sparks the way that I was able to do so using my iPhone in the photo below.

But I do not think this photo is a clear as the ones I took with my Fuji.  Below are the best bracketed set I took.

Looking at these now, I think I should try again when I have a bed of coals atop a bed of ash.  Later in the evening, I had more coals, which sometimes mesmerize me, but nothing like what I will have once I am several fires into this season.

After these photos, I took many more trying out the scenic program settings on the camera. I wonder if, for example, the sports setting might work since it was for movement.  Only two worked.

This is the fireworks setting.  I loved the warm glow of everything and the marked lack of purple haze in the center of the photo.  It makes me wonder what settings the camera is using for fireworks.

This is the sunset setting.  Again, I really have no idea what the camera is doing in all the parameters because I told it I was looking at a sunset, but you have a better image of the entire fire.  

I think, of the scene settings, I prefer the fireworks one.  I am not sure what I think of all the manual ones I did.  Mostly, the ones I found interesting were the barely-there-shutter-speed ones.  However, I am not really sure I captured even a fraction of how awesome the fire was to me.  SIGH.

On a totally and separate note, I finally remembered—on the third one—to take a photo of the Three Cheese and Balsamic Glaze Flatbread.  I should have taken a before photo because the drizzling is every so much more artistic before all the ingredients melt together.  Three times now, folk have found this to be fantastic.  Their enthusiasm makes me giddy, for I am excited that I was able to figure out how to make something I saw in a store ... and make it better!  

Yum!

For reference, the amount of béchamel sauce in the recipe (the smallest amount I could create from all the recipes I perused) was enough to make three flatbreads (before I ran out of brie) and then to make three bowls of a faux lasagna, where I layered (twice) mezzo penne, béchamel sauce, tomato basil spaghetti sauce, and mozzarella cheese.  

When storing the extra béchamel sauce, I debated using a mason jar or one of the Snapple bottles that I use for keeping heavy whipping cream and homemade dressings and such in the refrigerator.  I chose the Snapple bottle since all I have are quart mason jars, totally and completely and utterly forgetting that once it is chilled, the béchamel sauce is more like custard or an extremely thick yogurt.  Once you use it again, it melts beautifully.  Just wonderfully tasty.  But when cold in a Snapple bottle you will have to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to use a knife to scoop it out.  Definitely the mason jar would be better.  Actually, I probably should just have used once of my glass leftover containers.  In any case, if you are storing leftover béchamel sauce, be sure to put it in something with an opening wide enough for a spoon or rubber spatula.  

Last night, I finished off all the thank-you cards and note cards I had wanted to send.  And so I started thinking about the letters that I wanted to write.  You see, I like written correspondence and am single-handedly trying to keep the practice alive.  I send out handwritten thank you notes for all the gifts I receive and even for acts of mercy.  I rarely get any response back or receive them myself, but I have been doing so for about 15 years or so, have once become personally convicted that I had been taking for granted both the kindnesses shown me and the gifts given.

I want to write letters to my nephews, my best friend's cherubs, and Mary's two oldest.  I know that I enjoyed receiving letters as a child and I have the time to write.  However, I have gradually stopped writing letters to my own friends because they don't answer them.  I struggle to maintain one-sided correspondence.  I know that's how it will be with children.  Plus, my life has become so very narrow that I do not really have much to say.  I have been toying around with the idea of just writing nonsense,  something like talking about a trip to Jupiter or the like.  That way, I wouldn't be trying to have a written correspondence, a written conversation, per se, but just sending bits of writing in the mail to let the children know that writing is important and that I value them.  Only, I am not much of a silly story writer.  I write about challenging things, about hard things, not happy ones.  And my sweet nothings that I whisper in Amos' ears are all mostly nonsense puppy talk.  All the stories I tell him are about us, about a puppy dog who came to live with a care for a woman whose life was full of hurt and pain and loss and change.

Anyway, that is my goal for tonight.  I wish to write those six letters, print them on the special computer paper stationary I have amidst my stash of office supplies and get them out in the mail. I would like to first remember that I want to be sending them regular letters and then to actually write them and send them.  Maybe at least once a month.  Maybe twice.

I suppose what I am saying is that I believe it is important for children to know that other adults value and care for them.  My writing letters is a way I can let them know that I value them.  That really is why I send notecards to my friends on a regular basis ... or at least try to do so.  When I receive a letter or a notecard or anything from someone, it tells me that in that moment of the sending, I was thought of and cared for by that person.  It is a heady and wonderful thing to realize, to think and feel, as an adult.  It is even more so as a child.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!