Building a Fire

 
Ah, autumn! That time of year when you can smell that cold chill in the core of the air and you know that winter isn’t too far off. Nothing beats a crystal clear blue sky, the crunch of leaves beneath your feet and the sounds of geese starting their long trek south. In celebration of this turning of the seasons, I decided to invite several close friends over for a small party. We’d maybe start with a blood-pumping game of football, complete with spiced cider and hot chocolate on the sidelines. After that, perhaps there would be offerings of hot dogs and s’mores over an open campfire. Of course, my wife agreed that the food and football would be feasible, but when it came to the fire part, I got one of those looks that said, "You’ve got to be kidding me."  Apparently, a New York boy couldn’t possibly have fire building in his repertoire. I rose to the challenge. I would have a roaring bonfire capable of warming a small, third-world nation!

The process began by recruiting my four-year old son.  He would help me clear the area and make it as fireproof as possible. I had once heard that a fire needed to be contained so any stray sparks didn’t accidentally cause damage elsewhere. We made sure there were no bushes or trees nearby, and we’d warn the guests as well not to get to close with clothing that might be flammable.  Since we live in an area so heavily wooded that a quick trip to the mailbox could turn into the next Lewis and Clark expedition, I felt that building a small pit of stones would be the intelligent thing to do. We found several large stones and placed them in a circle on the lawn. It wasn’t long before I started entertaining grand designs of biblical proportions. This wouldn’t be just a fire, this would be a blaze worthy of roasting a wild boar! The only problem was, we had no boars, and if my wife had her doubts about my fire-making skills, I could only imagine what she would have thought of my hunting abilities.  Hot dogs and marshmallows it would be then. The Mighty Hunter fantasy got stuffed back on the shelf, and my son and I got down to the task at hand – containment. What we ended up with was a modest rock wall about two feet high. 

I then realized that I had never actually started a fire, at least not on purpose. I momentarily considered imitating a true outdoorsman by starting a fire by rubbing two sticks together. Thirty seconds later, I was driving to Wal-Mart to pick up cedar blocks and lighter fluid. These tools of convenience would work perfectly in my attempt to build the king of all campfires. A few hours and several old newspapers later, a rather impressive fire was warming an exceptionally cool October night. My friends, family, and I were all warm, and more importantly, safe. I hadn’t exactly put any Neanderthals to shame, but I did prove that a guy who prefers the urban wilderness of Central Park could do a decent job of recreating man’s earliest means of survival. Autumn has very nearly turned into winter, but that rock wall is still standing. I find myself fighting the daily temptation to remind my wife who built it.