anagama tuesday

fourth morning, third day of firing.

I get up to a waning moon, halfway to the last quarter, the sky more or less clear, and its chilly again. Gas wraps himself up in a sleeping bag on a foundation of wood scraps next to the log splitter. he is silently out for the count for the next five hours. I creep past to the wood pile.

this morning there are two thrushes singing, and the song is different.

dweeb dweeb … followed by squeaky bird falsetto ..plink plink

pheasant type call again .. tweet tweet tweetjug-jug .. chuck-chuck-chuck

flutelike trill

pink pink pink

tuit tuit ! (after hearing an owl hoot)

do-it do-it do-it

quk quk quk quk

……………………….

the traffic noise seems louder this morning – perhaps the wind direction is different.

the fire is inside the fire mouth now, a mix ofsmall hardwood chunks and softwood billets. pure heat makes the air above the chimney quiver. I can see my two pots at the front, one in each corner, and Gas’s sacrifice pot which guards Svend’s huge one from the sharpest onslaught of heat.

the fire squeaks and purrs. we are burning oak and some poplar, and some larch and pine sticks to help keep it moving. the softwood flames up instantly.

Dorley Fieldhouse arrives this afternoon for the first of three stints. she fires a fastfire wood kiln at home. and Ko is back to help on the later shift.

later Gas pushes the fire right inside the firebox and changes the hearth, so that there is a white slab of kiln shelf standing in front. maybe four hundred degrees centigrade today.