I grew up in my Grandmother's house. The old farmhouse was well over 100 years old by the time I arrived. The house was heated with one black, cast iron stove. The tiny pot bellied stove sat in the corner of the living room. Being one of the youngest, my room was very near the stove. I remember waking to the sounds of my Grandmother stirring the coals, trying to warm the house before all the kids awakened.

The little old lady who lives across from me now has a coal burning stove in her little cottage. Some evenings when the air is cool, I step out on my porch and inhale deeply. HOME...