Firewood is now such a frightful price that you feel compelled to maximize the layers of pleasure it can provide. The provision of warmth alone isn’t enough.
As it happens, I like the way it smells, and I love that rich and fat feeling I have when I’ve got a great big stack of it in storage. There’s a kind of cornucopic abundance that comes with it – the same feelings supplied by a bountiful vegie garden at harvest time.
But this year even that wasn’t enough. Couple my desire to make it work harder with a delivery too far from the shed, a sunny afternoon and a few hours of office work I was desperate to avoid, and this is the result. Redgum muffins.
Or redgum Monet haystacks, perhaps.
In the mix above were some very fond memories of Marnarnie, when owned by Kevin O’Neill (the florist), whose Swiss(?) gardener following the Ash Wednesday fires cut all the burnt trees for firewood and stacked them as above throughout the garden. They became, for several years, this garden’s leitmotif. At any point in this huge garden, they’d be echoing around you, and disappearing off under the canopy in the distance.