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I made a fire in the fireplace today. The first fire of the season. I mean, it snowed today for heaven's sake. Ya gotta have a fire when it snows.
There is something about a fire that makes a house a home. A fire in the fireplace, obviously. A fire NOT in the fireplace makes a house NOT a home. Or a house. Or anything else but a pile of charred rubble. But a roaring fire in a fireplace is a magical thing to me. I don't think there is anything better than room filled with the glow of a nice, crackling fire on a cold, snowy, day. And the first fire of the season is all the better. More better. Whatever.
I was always fascinated by the process that my Dad followed in making a fire. I guess it isn't any rocket science (although my Dad DID do some rocket science in his work), it is just making a fire. But he was always so methodical and precise. It seemed like he was letting me in on a secret just by letting me watch him.
I prefer to think of the whole thing as a mystical concept. So if you feel you want to burst my bubble and e-mail me saying, "Get over it, it's just a fire", don't. Just don't. I understand your point, it really is just three levels; paper, kindling and logs. But the preparation and the proportions are the thing. And you can only do those by feel. I watched my Dad make many a fire and I can comfortably say that I make a fire almost exactly the same way he did. I crumple the newspaper the same way, I use kindling of only certain diameters - not to thick or thin, and I make sure that I always have a supply of dry logs squirreled away under the pile that is exposed to the weather. So kill me, I think it's cool.
To make this fire experience even better today was the fact that both boys seemed to be just as fascinated today. And true to form, each were interested in different aspects. Bobby was totally interested in the process. He liked the crumpling of paper, the stacking of logs. Jake was hypnotized by the fire itself and stayed in the fireplace room from the initial lighting until his bedtime. It had a calming effect on him. He kept informing me when the fire needed tending and asking all sorts of questions about the colors of the flames and the way the sparks were rising up the chimney. Maybe someday they can be like me and write a boring entry about their Dad in their online journals - or whatever the future equivalent of the online journal. Perhaps they'll go me one better and actually write an interesting entry.
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