Web Logging

As the final third of September approaches, I'm going to have to face the fact that it's simply not as warm outside as it has been.  And so I suspect that Friday, or possibly Saturday, will see us putting the heating on for the first time in this house - I've been here since early June.  It would have been nice to go 4 months without heating, but I don't think we'll quite make it.
On the downside, that means ordering some oil.  On the up side, it also means that I can bring our open fire into play.  The question is, how do I feel about gathering wood?
Not that I'm concerned about the physical effort required, as I walk about 3 miles a day anyway, but the morality of "nicking" fallen wood to burn on my fire.  Is it right?  Is it even legal?  Much of the woodland around here is commercial forestry, so I think it's a little more clear cut in that situation.  The land belongs to a private owner, and therefore so do the windfalls.  However, on public land I think the line between right and wrong is a little more blurred.
So I think that if I take a small rucksack out with me, and pop in a few bits of naturally fallen wood, that's OK.  Nothing more than, say, 3" thick (7.5cm), and no more than I can reasonably carry. I reckon that bag's contents would do for 3 or so hours of firewood.  Our grate is small, but the sitting room is also small enough that we'd keep the door open and heat some of the rest of the house too. Daily gathering, daily burning.  The circle of life and all that, eh?
On other matters: we had a great weekend.  The day out at the Royal Berkshire County Show on Saturday was excellent.  Ferrets were possibly the highlight - and a couple of utterly magnificent bulls.  Pictures may follow.  It's always slightly moving to watch a Spitfire flying overhead, as we did on Saturday, but it was even more so on the Sunday, watching it from our home (about 3 miles from the Showground).  As it plunged downwards below the treeline, the distinctive two notes of the Merlin engine seemed to drift apart.  The deep thrum getting deeper. The higher element of its voice become more shrill and piercing.  I suspect that little on that horizon had changed in the last 70 years, and I confess a lump came to my throat as I imagined myself watching "our boys" heading off to square up to whatever had dared to cross the channel.  I was surprised at my own reaction, but not unhappy.
Shrubs to plant in the back garden tomorrow.  I might surprise myself and do some in the morning before work.  Or I might just linger a little longer while walking the dogs, and pick up a few sticks along the way - just in case there's a nip in the air later in the week.