The wood stove is out of sight to the left, across from the chair with the lamp. There’s a leather sofa on the right that you can’t see, either. We usually eat at the bar. On nights like this—it’s snowing now—I run the stove to keep the room at seventy degrees (21°C). It’s not hard, once the adobe walls beside the stove heat up.
It’s supposed to snow through Sunday night. If the forecast holds, it could be epic. I made a food run today, and the ham my wife’s brother sent is thawing in the fridge, so we are set, regardless. We could easily be snowed in for a couple of days. That’s a relative term, of course, depending on how much it hurts to go without a thing you’re used to, like the peanut butter I forgot. It’s always something, though. You never know what’ll push you over the edge until it does, and then you’re digging out and heading down the road.