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BY GERALD S. HAWKINS
Rappahannock News Contributing Writer
“Don't you have a stovemover?” the young man said over the phone. He seemed to think that every ntttsehold had a stovemover, and anyone without one was worse than old-fashioned.
It was winter, the snow was on the ground, and I was trying to persuade the nlware store to pick up a heavy. _as‘ iron, re-enameled stove. My wife, Julia and I had recently bought it to heat the farmhouse.
Everybody had told us the virtues of wood stoves stuffed with Virginia hardwood logs. There was nothing wrong with this particular stove. It was a bright, cheerful looking thing, the very latest in stove design.
But only after we bought it and I read the instruction sheet did I know it wasn’t going to work out. The chimney flue in our brick fireplace was not the right size for a start, and we had wood beams and paneling too close to where the stove would go, according to the fire protection codes.
“No,” I said to the man on the phone, “I don’t have a stovemover. And you had better bring two men with you when you come.”
We had watched three men lift the stove into the station waggon at the store, and we slammed down the rear door. From then on the stove became a beast on four red legs. Somehow Julia managed to stop it from toppling over in the trunk as I slowly drove around each curve.
Somehow we managed to lower all 2(H) lbs of it onto bales of hay, and inch-by-inch maneuver it up the steps into the house. Somehow we managed to avoid pulling a muscle in
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