I’ve enjoyed getting to know my neighbors around their campfires, so I thought I’d try my own this last weekend. I’m a notoriously bad fire-starter, so I should have been cautious of premature celebrations when my first effort flared. “Yay! Get the camera!” By the time I turned around, attempt #1 was out. As in cold, dead, finished. Undaunted, I tried again. Same scenario: deceptive flames followed by failure. Repeat two more times, and it was time for me to back away from the fire ring--or resort to a fountain of lighter fluid or a poker in the eye. As I reconciled myself to letting someone else build my fires, I realized I had a couple cheater logs in the shed. I threw one in, lit the paper wrapping, and settled into my Adirondack swing. I focused on the flames as the crickets and tree frogs chirped behind me, and the color faded from the sky. I have company coming this weekend, and they will do the firebuilding…
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