Rain. So much rain. Endless rain. The last few weeks have been filled with virtually non-stop rain and frigid temperatures. Even on the days where there is no rain, it is so cold that nothing dries out before the next bout of rain comes in.
I can’t remember how long the rain has been sticking around now. Maybe 2-3 weeks, maybe 5 or 6. It feels like an eternity.
During rainy days I still manage to get outside with Junior, if only for 20-30 minutes or so at a time. We both need the fresh air and to escape the confines of the camper each day to avoid going insane. There is high value in quality rain gear when living in a camper for this very reason.
But the rain still presents insurmountable obstacles when it comes to evening activities. Even when it isn’t actively raining, it is still more hassle than it is worth to try and get, and keep, a fire going in such conditions. This coupled with the fact that we have nowhere that is truly dry to store our camping chairs, means that we are camper-bound until conditions improve.
This is doable for a few days at a time. We usually rent a film or two and, after dinner, cuddle up in bed to watch it. But after a couple of weeks of this it becomes monotonous and we long for the cozy fireside chats that I, for one, have come to depend on for my sanity.
Over time I have come to realize that conversation is an essential component to the success of our marriage. This has taken various forms as our marriage and living situations have changed but has, nonetheless, remained reasonably constant.
As mentioned in previous posts, Chris and I had a rather rocky start to our marriage. The honeymoon period wore off quickly and we soon realized we had some fairly significant communication issues: we couldn’t. Every time we tried to talk to each other it ended in knock-down, drag-out fights and this seriously took a toll on our marriage.
Around 3 or 4 months in, in attempt to better acclimate our dogs to each other, we began taking them on daily walks in the evening. We lived on a dirt road that was always quiet, so we’d walk the 1.5 miles up to the stop sign at the paved road and back every day. It wasn’t intentional, but this became one of the few things that saved our marriage from a tragically early death. These walks began as a means of encouraging the dogs to feel like they were a part of the same pack, but it ended up having this effect on us too.
These walks became our time to check in with each other. We talked about our days, things that were on our minds, issues with each other, hopes and dreams; whatever we wanted. It became a chance for us to connect, and reconnect, every day. It brought us infinitely closer.
When we moved to Lawrenceville, walking wasn’t much of an option in the evenings because Chris’ commute was so long that we didn’t have time before Junior went to bed. Instead we would spend most evenings in our chairs in the carport chatting into the night.
The last few months, however, we have come to regard the fire pit as our sacred space. Camp fires have always served as a hub for community, and ours is no different. It’s a place that we have been fortunate enough to not just enjoy with each other, but also with new friends, old friends, and family. It has become an essential part of our lives, and one that we have missed sorely in the last few dreary weeks.
The campfire is such a fantastic tool, one that I believe should have a place in every family. Though many never consider a fire pit in their home or regular camping trips, I would strongly recommend that you do. I believe in the power of a good campfire so strongly for many reasons.
There are many components to a successful fire. The basic necessities for a fire are fuel, oxygen, and heat. But a good fire requires so much more. Much like a marriage or a friendship, it requires regular attention. A fire must be carefully fed; too much and you’ll extinguish the heat and oxygen, not enough and it will die.
To me, half the fun of the fire is the challenge of it. Anyone can start a fire with kiln-dried wood and lighter fluid. But the act of collecting kindling from the forest, splitting the logs with an axe, and carefully constructing a fire to burn optimally are all steps that shouldn’t be skipped over. Building a fire in this way is the embodiment of one’s hard work paying off. The more work you put in on the front end, the better the fire will be and the easier it will be to tend to.
This is reflected in the relationships that are forged around a fire, and the poetry of it is something I ponder often. When shortcuts are taken in building a fire it often is less-valued or enjoyed. The feeling of working hard to get a fire going in wet conditions and then sitting back and enjoying the warmth of the roaring flames is spectacular. The same is true for nurturing a relationship through the hard times and then feeling the strength of it in the easier times.
In a relationship like mine and Chris’, credit for every successful fire is lovingly and ruthlessly fought over. The conversation often goes like this:
Me: “The fire is rolling.”
Chris: “You’re welcome.”
Me: “For what?? I built it and tended it.”
Chris: “But I collected the fat lighter.”
Me: “…Per my instructions. That’s just the lackey work. Besides, I’m the one that so expertly placed it within the fire for optimal burning.”
Chris: “But you wouldn’t have a fire without the fat lighter.”
Me: “I would, it just wouldn’t have gotten going as quickly.”
Chris: “Whatever dude.”
Me: “Whatever dude.”
Conversely, the blame for a poor fire is often placed on each other, despite the fact that it is usually just due to wet conditions. This is a running joke that will likely go on for as long as we’re physically able to build a fire. It’s funny because almost every fire we have is a team effort in which we each play an important role. But we rarely miss a chance to criticize each other’s fire-tending skills. It’s this competitiveness that I enjoy in our relationship so much because it pushes each of us to greater levels within ourselves through a desire to outdo the other. It spills into almost every corner of our marriage and the campfire is no stranger to it.
We’ve had our share of calamities around the campfire too. One evening Chris and I were having a typical dispute over the lighter. No matter how many lighters we own, we always seem able to find only one and then good-natured bickering ensues over whose lighter it is and who stole it. On this particular evening Chris had taken over with the fire-tending duties. He stood up to poke at the fire for a minute before deciding that it need needed more wood. He turned to walk to the wood pile and I turned my face away to listen to something that faintly resembled a crying baby. In that second there was a small but mighty explosion in the fire. Chris just about ‘hit the deck’ as if taking heavy fire, and my heart took a few seconds to restart. Shrapnel flew from the fire and whizzed past my ear as I was sat a mere 3 feet from the explosion.
Upon inspection we realized that Chris must have had the lighter in his lap as he stood up, knocking the lighter into the fire pit without him noticing. After a few seconds of it heating up it exploded. We were fortunate that neither of us sustained any injury from this, but Chris is no longer allowed flammable materials other than wood around the fire pit until his suspension is lifted.
I am also not allowed accelerants around a fire, but this is a self-imposed rule following a very close call some years ago.
At that time I spent much of my time at a friend’s house in Athens. She had 6 acres on the river and I would spend much of my free time helping her clear the land burning the brush and trees that we cleared. We would have proper country bonfires 10-20 feet in diameter with entire trees thrown on there, which would burn for days.
One such fire had been burning for several days until a heavy rainstorm moved through late one spring. I got off work early after rain had cleared and, though my friend was out of town for the day, I went over to continue the burn as I often did. Upon arrival I saw no smoke and felt no heat. The burn pile was soaked, so I figured it was a safe assumption that the fire was truly out and would take some strong efforts to get it going again. I grabbed the ancient metal 5 gallon gas can and doused the fire in gasoline. As I did so, it became apparent that there were in fact embers still burning at the bottom of the pile and the stream of gasoline I was pouring ignited. I quickly whipped my hand back and, unbeknownst to me in that moment, splashed gasoline all over my leg. I looked down to find that some gasoline had splashed on the lip of the circular gas can that I was holding and was now on fire.
I then had the dumbest knee-jerk reaction and launched the gas can in the air away from me. Thankfully – and I still don’t know how – the gas can landed right way up. When my heart began beating again I ran toward the house for the water hose. As I turned it on I looked down to finally realize that I was on fire. The gas I had splashed on my leg had ignited my athletic shorts and they were now melting to my leg. I jumped about frantically beating at the flames with my hand making noises like a choking turkey and 100% forgetting all I had learned about “stop, drop, and roll”.
So with shorts melted to my leg, I jumped back into action with the water hose and ran furiously toward the burning gas can. But alas, about 20 feet from the fire the water hose reached its end and pinged me backwards like a cartoon. With too great a distance between the water hose and the burning gas can, I had no choice but to stand back and watch the gas can to see if it would explode. Thankfully the flames slowly died and I escaped that day with only minor scarring, one less pair of athletic shorts, and a new understanding of what my Dad meant when he had told me as a child that “gasoline and fire don’t mix with Walshes.”
We have also enjoyed teaching others to collect wood and build fires. I also like to people-watch and find it very telling to watch someone else tend to a fire when I can manage to relinquish control, that is). A person’s approach to fire-building can reveal things about their own character, approaches to life, and their upbringing.
Then there’s the others who join us around the campfire. Devon is terrified of the slightest loud noise or bang, and the pop and crackle of the fire spooks him into retreating back to the camper nightly. But we have often enjoyed our fire with other critters. I have looked up to find a majestic barred owl sitting but a few feet from our campsite watching us as we enjoy the fire. We have been interrupted in conversation many times by the whooping and howling of coyotes in the night. We have abandoned the fire entirely at times in search of whatever creature made some twigs snap in the woods behind us. Chris has even hand fed a curious squirrel near the fire pit one afternoon.
Fire fulfills 3 basic necessities for man; warmth, light, and community. It’s no new discovery, but even in the modern world full of social media and lightning-fast internet speeds I still believe that it will continue to serve an irreplaceable purpose. Sure, one could obtain each of these three components from other more readily available and easily attainable means nowadays, but there’s still something undefinably unique about a campfire experience. No one has fond memories of sitting around a radiator in their house enjoying good text conversation via social media. Those types of memories are reserved for the magic of a campfire and the connection and sense of community that it brings.
In living this life we have gained a valuable insight into what really matters to us. As it turns out, these long conversations by the fire are irreplaceable. It is therefore imperative that we preserve and protect them. Thus, when we buy our land in the mountains in the next couple of years, our first expense will be erecting a shelter under which to park the camper and place a chiminea. This way we will forever have a dry place to sit around the fire and talk until the conversation dries up and the last embers burn out.