To save gas, we have bought a rocket stove and burn some fraction of the wood that would go to rustic fences or the slow compost of the woodpile. As a result we have slid our cooking into the garden and slowed down so that it is often a race between the food and the darkness. Now we are wrapped in the produce of the searing summer. We cook apples down to freeze for the next year's breakfasts. We cook yet more apples and grapes to make chilli jam. The smoke from the rocket stove has touched it and that, and the chilli, and the joy of our eating food that we have grown is as warming as I can imagine.