We scraped a LOT of creosote out of the stovepipes. The chimney was, as it had already proven, a fire waiting to happen.
Somebody sent me an Amazon link, and I have bookmarked it and will spend money there as soon as I get the money together. That’s the very next cabin-related purchase. Every two months, like clockwork, from now on.
My good neighbor D came over after lunch to help get the pipes down and cleaned. Being a more responsible type, he already owned the necessary tools.
Taped a garbage bag under the ceiling box, to catch what fell.
The biggest accumulation was up near the box, in the reducer. Reducers are a bad idea, it seems.
And all back together, and probably sometime tonight I’ll get up the nerve to actually fire it up. I’ll keep telling myself the inside the chimney is now clean as a whistle and there’s nothing flammable in there.
It won’t help. Good servant, terrible master.
A word about adrenalin: In the course of a long life, I’ve had lots of opportunity to take care of situations while I’m really scared. I can feel my heart pounding and I’m about six inches from freaking completely out, but I can prioritize what needs to be done and work down the checklist at warp speed. Afterward I can rarely think of a thing I should have done differently – except for avoiding the situation. But also afterward, I’m wrung out like a dishrag and just about useless for anything. This morning I took the boys to Gitmo, because I didn’t need them underfoot while I cleaned up and there was still time to go shit-shoveling. But when I got back to the Lair all I could do was sit in a chair and watch the walls move, and didn’t start feeling better until just before D called.
Guess it’s good it’s not the other way around. Hindsight is a bitch, especially when it involves hysteria. This place took me years to get to the point where it’s at, and this morning I almost lost it due to maintenance failure. That would have sucked.