So far outside the box you can't even see the box from here.
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
There is something primeval about a campfire. Our primitive ancestors must have felt like gods when they harnessed the power of fire. Warmth, cooking, light, and protection from wild animals. Fire is almost magical.
Most of us don’t need fire the way the old ones did, but that doesn’t mean we enjoy a campfire any less. One of the joys of living out in the country is the ability to have a fire ring in my yard. I spent the summers of my youth sitting around a campfire, feeding it, poking it with a stick, burning hot dogs and marshmallows, and just watching it.
We had a campfire last night. I’d cut some dead limbs out of a big hemlock tree that were overhanging the driveway. A campfire was the perfect way to get rid of them. The grandkids were all for it, of course.
Before long we had a nice bed of coals for roasting marshmallows. The kids loved that. My lovely wife started a story and encouraged the kids to keep adding to it. The got into it and came up with a funny tale. Eventually, the kids ran out of energy and were all herded off to bed.
My dad, my lovely wife and I sat around the dying fire, enjoying the quite. We talked in low voices and watched the stars come out. After a while, my dad said: this beats the hell out of TV.
I live in an area of NH known as the Great North Woods. I'm in my dome-i-cile out in the county with my lovely wife and a varying number of family and friends
-part red neck, part hippie but all country. Experimenting and enjoying the adventure of life.