I feel as though I should run through the fields beating my chest, shouting, "I HAVE FIRE!!!" ala Tom Hanks in Castaway.
As long as I don't catch on fire, we're good. I now have the one thing that makes New England winter tolerable (other than buggering off somewhere tropical until spring), and that is a wood stove.
Now all I need is wood.*
* The sticks that are burning were 'borrowed' from a friend. I have to give them back when I'm done with them.
