I always argue with myself over whether I ought to stoke the woodstove that one last time before sunup, when the wall thermometer says low sixties and it’s going to go up from there at least a little no matter what I do. That display is up against an outside wall, so natch it’s always going to read lower than the actual air temp.
So this morning I went ahead and stoked it because why not, and then went off for my chicken chore walkie before the sun came up over the rim and became an issue. Came back half an hour or so later, and the temperature downwind of that cool heat-powered fan was stifling. I was already sweating in my coat, and by the time I got it and my hoodie peeled off I was swimming. I’ll be leaving for a dollar store run with D&L in about two hours, and maybe I need to change into something a bit less gamey.
Thing is – this is going to sound like the very model of a first-world problem – by this point in winter I’ve usually just acclimated myself to a lower temperature, maintaining body warmth with layers. But now the propane heater lets me sleep comfortably through the night with just a hoodie and a Corgi and a couple of blankets, and the Lair’s wall insulation holds heat so it’s normally at least 20 degrees above ambient inside anyway. So less morning fire goes a lot farther than it did a few years ago, and it’s kind of forcing my winter habits back into the twentieth century.
Guess I could just open a window if it bugs me so much…