The man who had cut down some of our trees came this morning to ask if he could unload chips from the trees and branches that he is cutting down in nearby Deroche. Naturally, I felt compelled to be amusing, so I asked him, “What kind of chips—wood or potato?” Perhaps it was not all that amusing, but we agreed to allow him to bring wood chips for part of the lower field. Now that there is little snow on the ground, I ventured to the old candle factory to get a large piece of beeswax for the skin cream that I will probably make next week. It is many years since I stopped making beeswax candles and I shall never again make any. They were popular because of the pure beeswax, and the special wicking, and I never regretted the time spent on them when some days I spent as much as sixteen hours in the hot room, and coming out at night, smelling like a candle. If I happened to be around strangers, I could see them sniffing the air, trying to find out where the marvelous fragrance was coming from. Now we purchase our candles from Monastery Candles in Toronto and I find that their candles are excellent.