We built a fire last night. David, Mr. Seven, has become our official Fire Supply Specialist. In the past two days he has made sure we went to find the firewood guy who sits in his pickup truck with firewood for sale. Made sure we got kindling. Made sure there was a supply of newspapers.
He built a tower in the fireplace that had the shape of a Lincoln Log house, filled with kindling and newspaper. When I lit the base of it, there was a satisfying whoosh, and in moments we had a crackling fire. I mentioned that one day he would make an excellent Boy Scout, and he responded, “I don’t want to BE a Boy Scout, Mom.”
Hubbo’s brother and wife had come for dinner, and we sat in front of the warmth, watching the logs. On the mantel above the fireplace I had put branches of laurel, weeks ago, for my friend Katie’s birthday party. When I fed them to the fire, the result was so satisfying–WHOOSH–that we burned it all, branch by branch. I could have sat there all night, watching twigs curl and embers fall.
I hope we all have a chance to sit and do absolutely nothing this Thanksgiving.