happy little sparks
I walked outside and watched. There was no roar or crazy oxygen-induced whistle of a chimney fire. Just the normal smoke and the happy sparks. I figured it was a piece of the paper bag I used to start the fire earlier, trapped up there and burning off in little coughs. To be safe I closed the flue and stopped burning for the night. The sparks stopped and I fell asleep like a grateful brick. I had been up 21 hours straight and wanted that rest in a primal way.
This morning I woke up to a 20-degree, frost covered farm, and the house was down to 55. Not unbearable, but not comfortable either. I decided to do some inspecting so I went outside and opened the hatch on the cold pipe chimney to see what was going on. A little ash came out, and for good measure I stuck ten feet of chimney brush up there and a little residue fell into my bucket, but not the kind of creosote and gunk that causes fires. Feeling vindicated, I went about the good work of chopping kindling to get the place comfortable.
An hour later the animals were fed and I was outside waiting for a water bucket to fill at my well spout. Both chimneys seemed to be working fine. The two fires would raise the house about twenty degrees in four hours. I'd me sweating bullets before lunch. A small victory, but I felt like a 10th degree blackbelt in home ownership out there.
We learn as we go.