Backdraft: The Sequel

Yesterday morning I was sitting at the computer. DsydHubby had already left for work and the wind was kicking up outside. From the direction of my woodstove, I hear strange unfamiliar noises. Something reminiscent of... an old jalopy backfiring? So I turn to look, just in time to see SMOKE puff out of every seam and crack in our woodstove. Door, pipe seams, ash pan, ceiling connector- SMOKE. COMING. OUT. So, I get up and stand there for a moment staring in disbelief at the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. I snap out of it, figuring it's just a backdraft. No big deal, all I need to do is get the fire going stronger, so it's burning cleaner, and voilà! No more smoke. right? I casually swing open the door to get a closer look. SMOKE!! COPIUS AMOUNTS OF BILLOWING SMOKE!! Enveloped in an instant cloud, I blindly feel for the handle and slam the door shut. The Stove, apparently scorned by my hasty slamming of it's orifice, begins to pulsate and puff intensely - rather like someone's Norwegian grandfather stoking up a pipe full of imported Copenhagen. HOLY MOTHER OF CRACKER!! SMOKE. IS. FILLING. THE. HOUSE. I open the front door. Smoke pours out. The draft from the front door begins PULLING more smoke *out* of the stove.


ARGHHH!! I Scoop up BoyKing, rush him to his room, shut the door..I return to find the stove continuing it's Norwegian grandfather impersonation. Wait. Was that beeping sound...? AGH! MY EARS! EVIL PIERCING BEEPING NOISE! (yes indeed, our smoke alarms REALLY do work, and *simultaneously* to boot...) Finally, I did what any sensible hillbilly woman in my position would do.

I skillfully plucked each log from the stove using a pair of barbeque tongs and an oven mitt, and tossed them like a plateful of Bananas Foster, out into the driveway. And NOW my house smells like a slow roasted campfire. Marshmallows anyone?