Dear corn burner

In honor of Valentine's day, which is possibly my least favorite holiday EVER, I have written an emotion-filled letter to our corn burner.

Oh corn burner, how I dislike you. Let me count the ways.

(Hate seems a rather strong word. I'll save it for things that really deserve it. *cough* Monsanto.)

Dear corn burner, the silence of having your fire out for almost a week was divine. After only three hours of your annoying presence heating our home again, my head is already throbbing.

The house is filled with your vibration and constant high pitched hum.

The echo of my ringing ears is rattling my brain.

I cannot sleep, thank you.

Your buildup of clinkers which causes the metal fire box within you to lift up into the air, and then slam down with such force and unexpected metal-on-metal sound (not unlike a gunshot) almost stops my heart... and awakens the baby.

Nothing makes me happier than having the baby scared awake.

Upon opening your door to clean out the buildup of clinkers, you thank us by spewing forth half-burned pieces of corn. The color of these charred rejects perfectly matches the metal rug protecting our floor underneath you. Just last week I found one piece of black corn in the baby's mouth. As I cleaned the charcoal charcorn off her hands and face, I had nothing but lovely things to say about you.

Because of you, I cannot open my living room or dining room windows, even in the summer. My windows are caulked shut in a desperate attempt to keep your smoky breath out of the house.

There is no end to your giving.

Your ash pan overfloweth ninety percent of the time.

A thin layer of black corn ash coats the white window ledges in our living room, even though I have recently dusted.

Because of your presence in our young-child-filled-home, I have a cedar picket fence in my living room. It is absolutely your fault that my pant leg caught (several occasions) on this fence as I was stepping over it to cater to your needful tendencies. And if I had killed myself in doing so, there is no question it would have been ALL your fault.

You consume copious quantities of corn, which necessitates the hauling of at least two heavy five-gallon buckets daily. Perhaps it is because of you that I stayed so fit through my pregnancy last winter.

Besides your corn feeding habit, you require daily maintenance. If I forget to shake the buildup of ash and charred rejected corn kernels off your damper each and every morning and evening, you become deeply offended and begin to suffocate yourself.

Dear corn burner, we must remain cordial with each other for just a few months longer.

There will be much rejoicing the day the grain wagon gives up it's last kernels of corn, and I will smile as your fire dies.

You will be a humble, silent and obedient plant stand through the summer.

Yet when fall rolls around once again, for some odd reason your fire will be cozy, and the smell of burned corn will seem strangely comforting and familiar.

However, right now I would like to throw you out the window.

But I can't.

I suppose that is probably a good thing.