Most every night, the family found itself huddled around the campfire.
We cooked dinners on it. Hot dogs, hamburgers, and Speidies. We baked our dessert there, too. S'mores, of course. Along with cresent rolls that you fill with jelly.
Gram told her story of Little Black Sambo. Directed toward the children, but all of us enthralled and kept wondering, how will it end?
The rest of us would spend the late hours of darkness around the campfire to drink soda in unhealthy amounts and to tell our own tales. Stories filled with memories of childhood toys, tv shows, our educated views on the philosophy of FaceBook, the funniest youtube videos, singing childhood songs, and just plain catching up. Oh yeah, we bonded, for sure.
The best part was getting ready for bed. As you pull your sweatshirt over your head, that happy smell of campfire smoke fills your nostrils. And you are immediately reminded of the good times you had that day. You feel complete. Whole. Because you were just surrounded by people you love. And who love you. Unconditionally.
And you wish the campfire never had to be put out.
But settled for a hot shower and a washing machine.
Smoky the Bear,
"Only YOU can
prevent forest fires."
Please be sure you DO
put out your campfire.
In spite of your feelings.
This PSA is now over.