I’m not much for the outdoors.
Winters are the worst as I hate being cold. I’m bundled up in socks, sweat pants, and a robe every evening the thermometer dips below 60 degrees.
It doesn’t matter that the temperature in the house is the same in January as it is in July. My feet sense that winter’s here, and they turn into ice cubes.
I enjoy looking at snow and wintery landscapes as long as I’m snuggled up underneath a blanket indoors.
When our son invited me to come up and help him clear some brush behind the house he’s building, I was happy to go. Not because I’d be spending the day outside in January but because I’d be spending the day with my grandchildren.
Chris had built a nice rectangular fire pit, and it was all set up when we arrived. All of us got busy picking up logs and branches, throwing them in one giant pile.
After a while, we wanted to build a fire in the pit to warm up, so Chris gathered some old papers and a lighter.
He’d get the paper to light, but the fire kept going out. After about 30 minutes, my cold fingers told me that fire needed to get lit and lit fast.
Chris handed over fire duties to me, but this city gal wasn’t quite sure where to start.
And then I remembered how my husband taught our boys and me many years ago how to build a successful fire.
I recall being frustrated with his making us divide the sticks into four piles – small sticks and twigs to use for kindling, small sticks, medium-sized sticks and the biggest logs we’d gathered.
As a person who wants to get things done quickly, I didn’t see why we couldn’t just dump all the sticks into one pile.
An Eagle Scout and an engineer, hubby said we needed to line up what we needed first and then build the fire correctly or it wouldn’t last long.
So for years, I gathered sticks, separated them into piles and secretly complained that I was having to do a lot of work when I could just as easily have one giant pile of sticks and pull out what I needed when I needed it.
At first, I tried to light the newspaper on fire and throw some big sticks in there, but the flames went out. After about 15 minutes, I conceded – husband was right. We needed to start with the basics.
So I cleared everything out of the fire pit and built a rectangular base out of medium-sized sticks, just like he’d taught me, and put newspaper on top of that so air could get underneath the paper.
On top of the newspaper, I arranged small sticks and some dried moss. One click of a Bic lighter, and the newspaper caught fire, as did the small sticks. I slowly added more small sticks, careful not to overload the fledgling flames.
I had to admit, having the sticks separated made it easy to add the little sticks instead of hunting through a big pile.
With a nice-sized flame going, I added a few medium-sized sticks – just a few at a time – and watched the fire catch hold and actually burn. In about 1
I’m not much for the outdoors.
Winters are the worst as I hate being cold. I’m bundled up in socks, sweat pants, and a robe every evening the thermometer dips below 60 degrees.
It doesn’t matter that the temperature in the house is the same in January as it is in July. My feet sense that winter’s here, and they turn into ice cubes.
I enjoy looking at snow and wintery landscapes as long as I’m snuggled up underneath a blanket indoors.
When our son invited me to come up and help him clear some brush behind the house he’s building, I was happy to go. Not because I’d be spending the day outside in January but because I’d be spending the day with my grandchildren.
Chris had built a nice rectangular fire pit, and it was all set up when we arrived. All of us got busy picking up logs and branches, throwing them in one giant pile.
After a while, we wanted to build a fire in the pit to warm up, so Chris gathered some old papers and a lighter.
He’d get the paper to light, but the fire kept going out. After about 30 minutes, my cold fingers told me that fire needed to get lit and lit fast.
Chris handed over fire duties to me, but this city gal wasn’t quite sure where to start.
And then I remembered how my husband taught our boys and me many years ago how to build a successful fire.
I recall being frustrated with his making us divide the sticks into four piles – small sticks and twigs to use for kindling, small sticks, medium-sized sticks and the biggest logs we’d gathered.
As a person who wants to get things done quickly, I didn’t see why we couldn’t just dump all the sticks into one pile.
An Eagle Scout and an engineer, hubby said we needed to line up what we needed first and then build the fire correctly or it wouldn’t last long.
So for years, I gathered sticks, separated them into piles and secretly complained that I was having to do a lot of work when I could just as easily have one giant pile of sticks and pull out what I needed when I needed it.
At first, I tried to light the newspaper on fire and throw some big sticks in there, but the flames went out. After about 15 minutes, I conceded – husband was right. We needed to start with the basics.
So I cleared everything out of the fire pit and built a rectangular base out of medium-sized sticks, just like he’d taught me, and put newspaper on top of that so air could get underneath the paper.
On top of the newspaper, I arranged small sticks and some dried moss. One click of a Bic lighter, and the newspaper caught fire, as did the small sticks. I slowly added more small sticks, careful not to overload the fledgling flames.
I had to admit, having the sticks separated made it easy to add the little sticks instead of hunting through a big pile.
With a nice-sized flame going, I added a few medium-sized sticks – just a few at a time – and watched the fire catch hold and actually burn. In about 10 minutes, we had a nice fire going and we were able to add the big logs.
I relearned a valuable lesson that afternoon.
When you want something that will last, start small, keep going and don’t overload your pile or your life.
Everything starts with a solid, sturdy base, the patience to know when and how to add more fuel and when to add the big challenges.
I have to say the words my husband has been waiting over 30 years for hear, words I’ll readily admit he’s earned numerous times: “Honey, you were right.”
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.