THE SIMPLE JOY OF FIRE.
I came down into the hollow and saw the lightly smoldering pile of ashes with a couple of the Smith's children gathered around. A day or so before, a large heap of branches had been burned in that spot and the kids were trying to get a small fire started from the remaining embers. The few twigs and pieces of paper they had were smoking, but the children hadn't yet been able to coax any flames to devour their offering.These kids are farm children and accustomed to fire. They've been taught how to respect it and on many occasions I've watched them keep small fires going for days. Getting this one started, however, had them stumped.I grabbed a small, flat piece of wood and demonstrated how to safely fan the fire into existence. Opal, the middle Smith child, took the wood from me and tried what I suggested. Suddenly, as if by magic, flames engulfed her piece of paper and the fire and the children were both off and running, excitedly seeking more fuel.Obviously, children shouldn't have unsupervised access to fire. But they shouldn't be kept entirely removed from it either. We as a species have a rich connection to fire––fire gave us warmth, power, and energy-dense food. We exist the way we do because of fire. I've realized lately in my own experiences with fire (which are daily), how much I enjoy having it be an essential part of my daily life––the gathering of kindling, the sculpting of the pile and controlling of the flames. And, like reconnecting with an ancient pet, it brings me a nostalgic brand of satisfaction to be around fire, to watch and learn from those flames––a type of satisfaction I spent most of my life obliviously missing. So as I watched six-year-old Opal rushing around for kindling, I was happy to see her experiencing something similar to what I experience every morning and night: the elation that comes from being in control of one's very own source of warmth, comfort and energy. Or, I suppose, the simple joy of fire.- Jesse.