Tonight we had a campfire with the kids and my Mom and Dad. It was a beautiful evening, we had a big roaring fire, hot dogs and marshmallows. It was a traditional (albeit pared down) family “wiener roast” right down to the white bread instead of hot dog buns.
My entire life we have spent the occassional summer evening around a campfire. There is something so captivating about it. I could stare at the fire all night long, maybe once and a while poking at it with a stick, watching the sparks float into the sky looking like orange glitter. The kids were fascinated as well tonight. They spent hours finding long sticks and then burning the ends in the fire, calling them “fire sticks.” There was a close call or two with the ends of the sticks, but it provided us with a chance to reiterate fire safety, no one getting hurt in the process.
It is so sad to think that some kids will never get the chance to experience something so simple, yet so magical. I grew up in the country so we could build a fire on our land whenever we chose to. Now that we live in town, we are fortunate that we have a beautiful county park with fire pits just minutes away.
The kids are now sleeping, pooped from their big adventure. My husband and I are back in our “high tech” world, each typing away on our laptops. For at least a little while though I can reminisce about our evening each time I catch a sniff of the campfire scent floating off of me.