It turns out that my father is a pyromaniac.
(A very safety-conscious pyromaniac, but still, the guy likes to burn.) I had no idea.
But the evidence is very clear.
He spent most of a week in August burning tons of non-salvageable scrap wood, which we had been piling near the front door of the cabin and in various other piles around the cabin.
And “tons” might not even be much of an exaggeration. One day he kept track of how many trips up and down the hill he made to move the wood from the original pile down to where he was burning it (at a safe distance from the cabin). He had to stop counting after 50 because he ran out of sticks to add to his counting pile.
The original burn pile is now gone.
But more wood to be burned keeps popping up. Or rather, kept getting thrown out the front window of the cabin by Steve (more on that soon)…
And stacked up by Lars.
Dad, we need you to come back!