Can still see the last of the coals twinkling from the bedroom window.
Honestly it’s the only decent fire I’ve managed to build this entire trip. Maybe that sounds crazy, given that we’ve been camping now for six months, but we really don’t have much campfire religion. We just don’t do them much, and the few times we’ve set out too, I’ve struggled more often than not getting a good one going.
On the nights when a fire is best Sharaun and the kids usually decline to join me outside because it’s “too cold.” Sometimes that might be OK, like if I’ve got a glass of Scotch and some music on, but usually I’d rather be enjoying time with them than being alone by the fire. This is an RV problem, having an enclosed heated space to keep warm in versus having to huddle around the fire.
We’ve also had bad luck with rain or damp wood, or maybe my fire making skills have just atrophied over time. Either way, the fires, or attempted fires, I recall were smoky messes.
Tonight, though, that was glory. At least I knew I was starting with damp wood and kindling, was able to focus on getting a really hot bed of coals I could toss the wet stuff on and still have it catch. Near the end, when there was no more to burn, the heat was best. Radiant. The heat you want to get closer to because it’s freezing but can’t because it hurts.
Good work, I’m proud of that fire. Built it with my hands and brain.
Later, love you.