When I decided to work on this fire project, I did not have a woodstove. Still don't.
Which feels worth saying.
For thirteen years, I lived in a house where the only real source of heat was a woodstove. I have built a lot of fires. Not romantic fires. Not content fires. Utility fires. The kind you build because the house is cold and you are cold and the only way not to be cold is to build a fire.
But now I live in a different house. No woodstove.
On our property, the main thing we do with fire is burn the occasional slash piles.
So when it came time to take a few first photos for this new product line, here is how legitimate the whole operation was: I borrowed my dad’s Solo Stove. I had the kindling. I had the fire starters. I had the idea. I had a good place in the yard that didn't show all the plastic kid junk and half finished landscaping.
What I did not have was firewood. Firewood that was uniform and would fit in a solostove. You know, cute firewood.
We are not selling firewood, by the way. We do not break down whole logs at our facility, and firewood comes with its own practical headaches, like heat treating and making sure you are not accidentally moving bugs around the country.
So for now, we are kindling and fire starters.
Which is great.
Except if I am going to keep making fire content, I may need my own actual firewood.
But my next-door neighbor has a beautiful stack of firewood. Like, real nice. The kind of firewood that looks like it belongs in a catalog, or at least in the background of a product photo.
So I did what any serious fire-product professional would do.
I borrowed three cute pieces of firewood from my neighbor.
Like a cup of sugar. But wood.
And honestly, that might be the whole point.
This is not about proving I am the most legitimate fire person in the room. I am not trying to position myself as a survival expert or a woodstove philosopher or someone who can identify every species of hardwood by smell.
Not a fire expert. Just a person with marshmallows.
I am a person trying to get through the day with toddlers.
And sometimes, after dinner, it would be nice to sit around a fire for eight minutes, roast a marshmallow, make one small summer memory, and have the fire actually start.
That’s who this is for.
Not just the people with perfect woodpiles and permanent fire rings and generations of fire knowledge. But also the people borrowing the stove.
“Borrowing” the firewood.
Wondering how many times you can borrow three “cute” pieces before it becomes a problem.
Trying to make the moment happen anyway.
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