I recently changed residences again, making this the fourth place in this county that I have lived.

Moving from place to place helps give one a flavor of the area. So far the taste has been a good one.

No matter where I have lived, I can say that my neighbors thus far have been friendly, courteous and helpful.

As for this county, the only place that I haven't lived is Roaring Gap. But I don't think there is very much rental property there in my price range. Probably the best I can do is just ride by and look at the lake once in a while.

At any rate, the new place that I have rented is in the Piney Creek section of the county on the Sparta side. It offers a good deal of privacy and plenty of room, at least for me.

I was very thankful that this house came furnished. That way, I didn't have to lug and arrange a bunch of furniture and other odds and ends. That is the part of moving I hate most.

I was also very pleased that the house has a place for a woodstove. I immediately installed one.

Wood heat is cheap, comfortable and enjoyable - I can peer through the little glass doors of my stove and see the fire inside. That is one of my favorite pastimes, that and cleaning the little glasses in the doors that black up about twice a week.

On the other hand, it is also a lot of hard work to keep the wood stacked up in neat little piles as fast as said neat little piles end up being shoved through the stove door.

The only problem with readjusting to wood heat is that I don't have the ability to regulate the temperature as well as I would like. I was home the other evening and a friend stopped by for a social call. "What do you have your heat set on?" He asked, pausing to add, "purgatory?"

I just laughed, there wasn't much else I could do. I was wearing my Bermuda shirt and a pair of beach shoes, trying to make the most of a difficult situation.

I already had several windows and the front door open and I was running two fans, trying to add a tropical breeze to my equatorial climate. That's the problem with a woodstove, you can always add heat, but you can't take it away.

Therefore, if you "overdo it" at any time, then there's no turning back.

Having lived within the constraints of simple furnace controls for the last few years, with such rigors as setting a little slide to 65 and walking away, returning to the totally manual woodstove was an eye opener to say the least.

After my friend left, the house started getting a little cool. The fact that I had donned unseasonable beach wear never entered my mind. Determined not to make the same mistake again by over-filling the stove, I shut all the doors and windows and just let what wood was already in the stove warm up the house gradually.

The only problem with that was that the biggest remaining chunk of oak in the stove had rolled into the door, out of the coals. If you don't place the wood correctly, that's not a good thing.

I learned this right about the same time I learned to always keep a good stout pair of leather gloves somewhere near the stove.

Allow me to say this: Picking up a log covered with cherry-red coals on one side bare-handed is not a very good idea. Trust me. It may look like a regular log on one side, but which ever side you can't see is probably hot enough to send you to the local burn center.

Knowing this, I opened the door slowly and was able to catch the log between the door and the lip on front of the stove. I carefully picked up the log and then realized that it was scorching hot. Adding to my woes, smoke was pouring out the front of the stove door and smoking hot cinders from the log were going all over the hearth and the front of the stove.

As I shoved the log back into the stove, I also burned the other side of my hand on the top of the door opening, making me drop the log again. That, in turn, caused a fresh puff of feather-like ashes to cascade all over and around me.

I just had bought a neat little fire place set, complete with a little shovel, a poker and a brush.

However, the brush is long and unwieldy, so I instead was using a little hand-sized straw whisk broom. After rushing to the restroom for first aid, which consisted of aloe vera gel and soap and water, I went back to clean up the mess.

Almost succumbing to another bout of procrastination, I instead sprang into action lest the housework police come by on a random sweep and condemn my domicile.

And that is how I set my cute little broom on fire.

Remember, I wasn't using the safe one that came with my fireplace set. I was proceeding to clean up the ashes when the phone rang. I put the little broom on my neat little ashe pile next to the stove and went after the phone, only to return about a minute later and find my broom had started to smoke heavily. Knowing that this would have a negative affect on the broom's respiratory health, I "wisely" started stomping it.

At that point, I suddenly came to the realization that I wasn't wearing any shoes. I had slipped them off for a relaxing evening at home. It didn't take a genius to figure that one out.

Furthermore, I didn't think the stop, drop and roll method was a good idea with a hot-coal-covered sock. The problem comes from my childhood. Singed socks just weren't included in my fire safety training. So I opted for the stop, hop and yell. After a brief struggle with reality, I fell to the floor and removed the offending sock and put it in the stove along with the whisk broom. Burn wood, folks. Socks and brooms cost way too much and they don't put off near the heat of a good log.

At any rate, whatever the pearl of wisdom in all this might be, it continues to elude me. With woodstoves and life in general, it would seem that some of our most valuable "pearls" find themselves hidden deep within the oyster of our own stupidity.

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