We had a chestnut tree in the back yard when we lived in town. It was a beautiful tree and I remember the spiky chestnuts and the racoon Jess saw in its branches (the only coon I ever saw in a tree; almost the only coon I ever saw period). But there are no chestnut trees out here and we’re fresh out of open fires; the one remaining slash pile is soaked and covered with frost, and open fires in the house are a no-go. (I’ll take my wood stove that heats 2000 square feet toastily on an armload of wood per day, thank you.)

No, we’ll roast stockings over a closed fire instead, thank you. The stove generates quite a heat plume when it gets going, enough to wobble some stockings as if in a slight beeze; and some of the older stockings get a bit of a singed appearance.

So last week our stockings were hung by the fire with care. The big stockings are for people and dogs, and the little ones at either end are for the cats. Left to right, here are our stocking designees: Noodles (cat), Honey (dog), Dad (not dog), Mom, Emma, Becca, stovepipe, Katie, Abby, Natalie, Sarah, Jacob, Honey (dog), and Icky (cat). You can see that Jessica has embellished each one with a different Christmassy symbol.

Above the stockings, on the mantel, is Jessica’s snow globe collection (those that have survived this long) together with a couple of kerosene lamps. In the stove is the tail end of the day’s fire, ready to take its nightime load, shut the damper, and go to sleep.