With winter on its last legs, there’s a deep sadness in the Fornaro household…well, maybe just in me. You might recall last winter I was giddy with excitement after acquiring two tonnes of the finest firewood money could buy for our shiny new fireplace. This year? Oh, it’s been glorious. I’m certain it’s been colder than last year (possibly even artic by Brisbane standards), which in my book means one thing – more fires. I even declared our second fire season open in May when the mercury dipped below 20 degrees one night. Annie responded by opening all the doors and muttering about “heat stroke”, but I took that simply as validation of my top‑tier fire‑making prowess.
By mid‑July tragedy struck – the woodpile was bare. But fear not, I restocked faster than Annie can say ‘I don’t think we need a fire tonight’ (which, to be fair, she says a lot). My nightly ritual is now a sacred one: me and my favourite chucks tip‑toe through the garden (don’t tell Annie) to my glorious firewood fortress – five metres long, 1.5 metres high, perfectly stacked by yours truly. I fill my trusty old‑school plastic bin to the brim and haul it inside to commence the delicate art of building the perfect fire. Annie, meanwhile, is in mid-meltdown over “the dirty bin on the wool rug”. She just doesn’t appreciate the precision engineering going on here – the geometry, the airflow calculations, the split‑second timing. This isn’t just burning wood, Annie…this is performance art.
Fire Season Two has taught me a few valuable lessons for when I return for Season Three in 2026, stronger than ever:
So as I prepare to pack away the kindling in Spring and dream of next year’s fire season, Annie will still be rolling her eyes, muttering about rugs, “too much heat” and “why can’t we just turn on the air con like other people?”. And I’ll just grin, wander outside – champagne in hand – to admire how my perfectly stacked firewood is maturing like a fine wine over summer.
It’s clear to me now, in our house there are two types of people: those who think a fire is just heat…and those of us who know it’s a competitive sport, an artform, and quite possibly an Olympic-level skill.
Oh, and I almost forgot – we have had our outdoor fire pit set up. This means fire season doesn’t end in Spring…it just relocates outside. Sorry Annie, no off‑season for this champion – I’m in year‑round training now.
Cheers, Tony.
