Fire Building: Man vs. Woman

January 8, 2010

I love fireplaces.  I love sitting by them with a cup of tea or a glass of wine while reading a novel or watching old movies.  It's one of the best ways to relax on a rainy day or to create that romantic mood on date night.

I've had a fireplace in almost every house I've every lived in.  And when I lived in Oregon with my dad, the fireplace and our woodburning store was the main way we heated the house.

So when I scoped out the home I now live in, I made sure it had a fireplace.  But not just any fireplace--a double-sided fireplace with a whalebone fossil encased in limestone as a focal point.

Now, I don't go for those fakey electric fireplaces, or even a gas-burning one.  If it isn't real wood, it isn't a real fire.  Some nice sticks to get the fire going, some smaller pieces to feed it once it gets going, and a few big logs to stoke it up and keep it burning for awhile is the only way to go.  And the wood?  Oak.  It burns the longest and I've got plenty of it.

But isn't it amazing the difference between how a woman starts a fire and how a man starts one?  I start by crumpling up newspaper to make a bed both on top of the logholder and under it.  I put some small sticks and twigs on top of the newspaper, then put a few small logs on top of that.  Then I strike a match, apply it to a few places on the lowest newspaper, and watch it go.

My husband, on the other hand, takes fire starting as a battle.  He doesn't use newspaper--he doesn't need that whimpy stuff.  He puts the logs on the logholder--no sticks--then chooses his weapon:  a plumbers torch!  He pops the lighter, and, with a deathly look on his face, attacks the logs with a high flame.  He keeps at it until either the logs give up in defeat or he wages war with the additional amo of a few pieces of cardboard.

Originally I thought this was just something my husband did.  I mean, my dad never used a torch of any kind to start a fire.  But when my step-dad came for Thanksgiving, I noticed the same look on his face as he reached for the torch--that same murderous expression as he attacked the wood and the same pleasure on his face when the wood relented.

Funny.  I seem to get the fire started with as good, if not better, results with my one match and crumpled newspaper than the men do with their torch.  So is it the pleasure they get from using yet another tool or from conquering yet another foe?  What's your take?