Review: Bundle of Firewood

$6.99, Carrs-Safeway Supermarket 

Alaska does not lack trees. According to this Yahoo! Answers post, which I presume to be well-researched and reliable, estimates of the exact number of trees in the state include  "i think 600 million trees," "probably close to a billion or more," and "Considering the state is larger than Texas....it's more than I can count even if I tried," although it is also recommended to "try a Wikipedia search on Alaska and go somewhere about the environment and such," which is a great suggestion that I unfortunately did not get around to trying. Regardless, even if considering only Anchorage and its immediate vicinity, one would undoubtedly be conservative to estimate that the number of trees here is totally bananas.

This data makes only more frustrating the reality that I regularly purchase wood from a store so that I can go home and set it on fire. But we do not own any of the fruitful birch-yielding acres that extend for miles in every direction, so if we choose to use our fireplace in the winter (we do), then that is what we are dealing with.

Procurement

The supermarket near our house stocks small bundles to serve my precise variety of sucker. They are wrapped snugly in several layers of transparent cellophane and stacked in the front of the store, beyond the registers, requiring an announcement to the cashier during checkout that you intend to purchase one and pick it up as you are leaving, as for a bag of ice.

I always feel a need to do this in a slick, spontaneous-sounding way, like "Oh, actually, you know what? I better go ahead and grab a thing of firewood on my way out, too," like it's some unfavorable commentary on my coolness if I don't handle this interaction with appropriate nonchalance. I suppose I am embarrassed to admit that this is my regular Wood Procurement Strategy, instead of something more self-sufficient, so I put on my best Guy Who Definitely Has His Own Chainsaw act and sell it hard that this is just a one time deal. ("Yeah, we just finished up last year's tree. Just need a few logs to get through tonight. I'm taking down another sixty foot spruce tomorrow. I didn't even know you guys sold this stuff. Do people really buy it?") I don't actually say any of this out loud.

Bundle sizes vary noticeably, clearly apportioned by no more accurate a method than some dude just eyeballing it; this makes for a critical moment as I approach the display and subtly deliberate which of the plainly visible ones is most generously stuffed, aware that the flat $7/bundle fee I just paid is irrespective of the specific one chosen but also intent to not undo all of that sweet image-building I just did with my cavalier routine in the checkout line (which I totally nailed) by loitering around and methodically ruling out the lightest bundles in a manic single-elimination tournament of bundle-to-bundle comparisons, like some Extreme Couponing nutjob bent on eking out every possible cent worth of wood. [Although this is, in fact, the exact exercise I undertake while selecting the optimal 2/$3 bell pepper, which notably takes place in the scrutiny-free produce section.]

I awkwardly shuffle-waddle through the parking lot with the bundle wedged between a hip and a wrist, both hands carrying bags filled with far too many groceries. I lunge and drop everything six feet from the car, grimacing and making that inhaled hissing sound through clenched teeth while massaging a thigh contusion and examining three splinters in my arm, wondering how bad the bread got smushed.

"I bet that guy built his own house," the cashier probably says.

Use

After passing about 2,000 trees on the one mile drive home, I open the fireplace doors and arrange two logs over a handful of scraps from the paper shredder and some twigs gathered from the yard (which I believe are fair game as long as they have fallen naturally from the trees that we rent). I light it and triumphantly retire to the couch, content to spend the next two hours sipping hot chocolate and marveling at my Promethean accomplishment. I feel like Survivorman on that one episode where he gets dropped off in a remote grocery store with only $20, the details of which I may be misremembering.

This lasts a humbling 40 seconds until the kindling burns off without igniting the wood. Fortunately, I have prepared for such a setback by also purchasing two separate varieties of manufactured fire starter products - one a resin formed to resemble overcooked french fries, the second a cocktail of splinters and sawdust and wax that has been cast into half of a hushpuppy, which leads one to question whether there are any similar products that are not bizarrely reminiscent of side dishes served at Long John Silver's. 

I place one of each starter at the base of the wood, and they burn for about six minutes, engulfed in substantial flames. This seems adequate, and although beyond the scope of this review, I would hypothetically award both of these products excellent scores. That is: I do not blame them for the ultimate outcome here, in which this alleged "firewood" appears to be immune to heat. The only damage to it is some incidental charring on the underside of one log, the sort which might result in high fives and hearty back-pats amongst the engineering team after testing a prototype fireproof safe. Just to be sure, I rearrange the logs a bit and throw like four of each kind of starter in there. This produces quite a show, but only for the six minutes, which is long enough to down my hot chocolate but not what I was hoping for.

Have I been swindled with some sort of imitation wood product? Perhaps this is an issue of excessive moisture content? Or might I just be a fundamentally flawed fire builder? I hope for the moisture thing and let the rest of the bundle sit for several days in our garage, where ambient humidity is typically low enough to cure most kinds of jerky. In the meantime, I shamefully hedge by investing yet another $12.99 in combustibles - at this point I am like $30 deep and may have been better off just lighting a stack of ones - this time for a six-pack of fake-wood store-brand Duraflame log equivalents. Survivorman would be so disappointed that I went over budget.

I try again with the starters and the drier firewood; it ends similarly. I stand over the hearth, staring at four smoldering hemi-hushpuppies with my hands on my hips and offering a hearty "Oh come ON!" - and I punt. The next night, I shove everything out of the way, place one fake log on the rack, and light the arrows printed on the bag, and the thing quickly goes up in a successful but ill-gotten fire. I recline and angrily enjoy it, but something is not right: the flames are too uniform, and there is no sound.

Ignoring explicit instructions on the fake log's packaging, I use the giant fireplace forceps with the fancy handles to corral one of the defective real logs and relocate it atop the flame, which does finally achieve whatever it is that I was going for - the wood starts to burn, if only slightly, popping and hissing, with an asymmetric, inconsistent, natural-looking fire. This lasts a couple of hours, until the fake log is spent, and what remains above it is a stubborn mass of log-shaped charcoal, maybe half the size of the original log and quite clearly mocking me.

In a most honest assessment, then, it appears that I have paid upwards of $1/log for the sole benefits of a fire that looks slightly more like a real fire, which is unnecessary, and some sweet crackly sounds, which could be adequately reproduced with a recording played on a laptop sitting on the mantle.

Summary

Pros:

• Visually and texturally reminiscent of wood
• Convenient prepackaging requires no axe work
• Thoughtfully-sized bundle can be easily carried by person of average size and below-average upper body fitness if only he would wait and buy the milk and spaghetti sauce and other heavy stuff next time
• Produces pleasant crackling sounds and slightly prettier flames when placed adjacent to an alternate fuel source that is already aflame

Cons:

• Does not burn
• Paid for with money instead of taken for free from nature as partial compensation for agreeing to live in desolate subarctic hellscape
• Kind of splintery if you're not wearing gloves

Overall Score: 33

All reviews utilize their own unique scoring scale, each with no reference datum and extending infinitely in both directions.