Circling the fire
My resistance is faltering. Despite my best intentions, I’ve being drawn into the campfire culture.
There isn’t much else to do around a campsite, once the sun has set. Either you decide to sleep by dusk, or you join in the circle. Every tent and trailer location comes with a requisite fire pit, and split wood is available for a price. Not for cooking; the fire replaces other visual entertainment (think of it as the original big screen entertainment centre).
I have tried reading by flashlight in my sleeping bag, but I’m no more successful now than at the age of seven. Too much work trying to keep the beam aimed, the ceiling high and the pages turning in an orderly manner. No wonder audio books are so popular.
There’s obviously some science; unwilling to employ propellants, the camper must choose the driest faggots, and the art of a good flame is learned. But, this year, we’ve become members of the social group that can be found, most dry evenings, arranged around the smoke-free part of the circle. Each with a folding chair, warm clothing and a story to tell. And some generic cola, but that’s for another thread.
The group is international; last evening, we had representation from Marseilles and Massachusetts. Worlds apart in mentality, but capable of establishing common ground for a few hours. We’re coming up to the Perseids, and we learned how best to shield our eyes from the fire glow as we searched the heavens for shooting stars. Think of a 50’s B-Movie poster…
