The Ring of Fire

Me, burning poop, circa 2014.

We made a quick trip to the bus just after Christmas.  I wanted to pick up bones for carving and my wife wanted some alders for making wreaths.  I picked what was forecasted to be the nicest day of the week, with temperatures in the 20s with no wind.

Upon arrival at around noon, the temperature was -15 (f).



As much as I’ve come to hate the cold weather, I was born for it.  Colorado has softened me.  The strong sun after even the heaviest snows tends to melt everything quickly.  Where I grew up in northern Maine, not so much.


My children aren’t afraid of the cold.  They bundled up and ignored it, which is what I want them to do.  They may not be as tough as kids from northern Maine, but I’m trying to teach them how to endure.  Try all I want, children are naturally resilient.


When we first bought the land in 2013, the first thing I did was build a fire ring.  Aborigines build a fire wherever they are.  It promotes a sense of place and home within them, no matter where they are.


Unfortunately for us, the fire danger at the land is usually high.  I keep a spark arrester on our stove in the bus and generally don’t have fires outside.  As a matter of fact, I’ve had a fire in the ring once.  And I burned dung.  Just to see if it could be done.


Being that there was plenty of snow this time around, I decided to officially christen the fire ring.  No tea, no marshmallows.  Just warmth.  And it was good.

Mike, Oscar, Hotel….out.




3 thoughts on “The Ring of Fire

  1. Pingback: The Ring of Fire | Rifleman III Journal

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