Playing With Fire
I was having coffee with a friend last week when the topic of camping came up. We laughed about tent disasters, shared our favorite campfire foods, and swapped stories about building the perfect fire. That’s when I learned something shocking—not everyone naturally knows how to build and maintain a fire! Who knew?
I’ve practiced my fire-making skills in all kinds of places—camping trips with my family, Girl Scout retreats, and right at home in the wood-burning fireplaces of my childhood houses. I was always the one scavenging for twigs, breaking up kindling, and making sure the logs burned evenly. There’s something satisfying about coaxing a spark into steady warmth.
But my knack for fire is both a blessing and a bit of a curse. My focus on the flames sometimes means I forget to notice other, smaller… shall we say, less responsible fire enthusiasts nearby.
Case in point: one summer at our family cottage, I took the kitchen garbage out to the shed. The moment I opened the door, I froze. Three-foot flames danced merrily out of the metal trash can in the middle of the building. I dropped the garbage bag, left the door open, and sprinted back to the cottage.
Inside, I stood in the kitchen spinning like a malfunctioning compass, trying to remember where the fire extinguisher was. Finally, I did what any rational adult would do—I yelled, “FIRE! FIRE!”
My dad, calm as ever, appeared from the living room—mere feet away from the fireplace—and ran toward the shed. Within a minute, he returned, extinguisher in hand, crisis completely under control.
Next came the investigation. Which little pyromaniac had started this blaze? My money was on my sister’s two boys, ages ten and thirteen. My own sons were only four and five, so clearly they couldn’t be responsible. 7-year-old Jessica was way too responsible and my daughter, Aubrey, wasn’t even born yet.
After interviews all around, my dad approached me quietly. “You need to talk to your youngest.”
“What? Kadon?” I gasped.
Turns out, yes—my sweet, curious little boy had confessed. He’d simply wanted to see what would happen if he lit something in the garbage can… using the propane blowtorch conveniently sitting on the floor. (Because of course it was.)
That day, I learned two valuable lessons: one, never underestimate a child with access to fire-starting tools; and two, sometimes the keeper of the flame needs to pay more attention to what’s smoldering nearby.
Even now, whether it’s a campfire, a woodstove, or one of our cozy home fireplaces, I can’t resist tending the flames. I still love the warmth, the light, and the way fire pulls people together. But these days, before I strike the match, I take a quick look around—just to make sure the next generation of fire lovers isn’t planning to “help.”
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