Let it not be said that this blog confines itself to a narrow, repetitive series of topics. Or if you must say it, don’t say it around me, because sometimes it’s quite difficult to come up with fresh material. Then again, returning to certain themes or motifs is the mark of a writer with conviction – at least, that’s my claim and I’m sticking with it.
So with rationalisations firmly in place, we can now return to the pressing matter of fire – not the terrible wildfires of this time last year, but fire tamed and harnessed by people to do their bidding. We’ve looked into that before – but one question remains unanswered: how do you combine the atavistic need for warmth and light with the contemporary urge to live stylishly?
The answer in a word is, of course, a firepit! How better to bring the trendy lifestyle choices of the urban elite into a backwoods setting recently beset by raging wildfires? By lighting a fire in a faux-antique receptacle in the middle of the garden, that’s how!
According to those arbiters of taste and fashionable living, the Instagram influencers, a firepit is the de rigeur accessory in the gardens of shishi country lockdown retreats this pandemic season, and who are we to question their diktats? (See how you adopt pretentious Europeanisms when you start talking about this stuff? Ridiculous.)
Having trawled the interwebs for some weeks in search of just the right pit, Daniela made her move and the deed was done. When it arrived, and securely boxed and lugged by a sweating postie, we excitedly relieved it of its wrappings. I have to say I was disappointed: it resembled something unearthed by archaeologists from the lower layers of the ruins of Troy.
I think I said, “gosh honey, we could probably have afforded a new one,” but my concern was pooh-poohed as I was told this patinated finish is all the rage. Be that as it may, I still think a fistful of steel wool, a can of WD40 and some elbow grease could buff it up all nice and shiny.
There followed a few months of indecision as we debated the finer points of our outdoor living area. The fact that it’s been unseasonably chilly and frequently rainy hasn’t helped. So we arrived at New Year’s Eve without having made much progress. Then, in a fever of activity brought on by the prospect of guests arriving, we acted.
We agreed that putting down pebbles, laying paving stones and erecting stonework walls, not to mention planting box hedges and mondo grass, was likely not to be possible in the few hours in hand. I assembled a series of mail-order flat-pack Chinese-manufactured Adirondack chairs which, true to their nation of manufacture, were as fiendishly difficult to decode as a 3D puzzle and elicited a lot of anguished cries and epithets. (They also bequeathed me eight identical Allen keys to be hoarded in the toolbox against some unlikely future scenario when that many may be needed.)
All this preparation also gave us an excuse to christen the Christmas chainsaw, which was put to good use cutting to size a dead branch from the tree you see in the photos, which had earlier been brought down by dint of me hanging on it until it unexpectedly broke – one of those YouTube-ready fails that no-one happened to be videoing at the time.
There was a moment of doubt as the boy-scout wigwam of twigs was assembled: would it work in this setting? Pretty much everything will burn in the Corner Cottage fireplace with its carefully-designed flue, but here, out in the open, one’s firestarting skills were truly under examination. Thankfully, the tried and tested principle of building a little house for the fire worked to a tee and we were blessed with a jolly dancing flame.
All was nicely laid in for an evening’s al fresco jollity. The guests arrived, the barbie was fired up, food and booze emanated from the kitchen in a steady stream. And so it began to rain and the assembled revellers repaired indoors. The evening progressed as these things do, with nary a backward glance and so the pit o’ fire was left to its fate.
Grand plans are afoot to move ahead with creating the elegant setting for the firepit in the not-too-distant future. We’re going for simple but stunning (details tbc) — no sunken dining areas, statuary, water features (other than the one that’s there now), and no further items of Adirondack seating. If you come over, you’ll be guaranteed a lively conflagration in a rusty bucket — for the rest, it’s pot luck. And that includes the weather.