Marshmallows in the Firelight

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I realize that it is illegal to have a campfire in our province at the moment. This week’s column is definitely not meant to encourage campfires in a summer when fires of any kind are not welcome. It is simply reminiscing. I would hope that anyone entertaining the idea of a fire would take every precaution to ensure it is both safe and well put out.

Sitting on the deck as the moon rose and the sun set this Friday, I was struck by memories of summers as a kid when one of the things we did on a Friday night was to have a bonfire. Whether it was camping trips in the interior of BC or times visiting my cousins in Vancouver, sitting around a fire was one of the decadent things I remember in my teens. And of course, the ubiquitous snack around a campfire was the unassuming marshmallow. In those days sugar was enough rebellion against our parents – the thought of any contraband stronger than that was not worth the risk! No messing around with something as silly as s’mores, either we were marshmallow purists, we were.

I don’t know if young people today would find something as monochromatic as a bonfire interesting. We saw the magic in the firelight, we were mesmerized by the flickering flames, and – if we were fortunate – by the strumming of a guitar. It was around a campfire that I learned the many verses of “Esther’s Hebrew Camp” (sung to the tune of a more well-known folk favourite by Arlo Guthrie, “Alice’s Restaurant” this version was just as irreverent). It was also around a campfire that I had my first kiss. And on a lighter note, it was around a campfire that I watched my favourite sneakers melt and had my pigtail tangled in a flaming marshmallow. (Okay, it wasn’t funny at the time, but as I write this I can’t help but smile.)

I hope there are kids out there who still get to know the camaraderie that can occur around a campfire. I hope they get to share stories with their parents around a fire. I will never forget the summer we spent in the Rockies, hiking Illicilewaut one afternoon and getting caught in a torrential downpour on the return trip. It was the summer I got my first pair of sneakers that looked even close to those coveted Adidas, the closest I had been so far to cool (I had a long way to go). Everyone’s shoes were soaked and we were camping so we put them around the fire that night to dry them out. The only problem was, mine were made of vinyl. I am sure I don’t need to explain the gory details, but suffice it to say the only thing that made me feel a bit better was getting ready to roast marshmallows. Little did I know the night’s adventures had only begun...
I will interject a bit more background here, letting you know that my cousin (who is the same age as I) has always been a rather rambunctious fellow. (He has kids of his own now, and bought them each “Super Soaker” water guns so that when they had water fights, they could really hold their own – get my drift?) Well, the marshmallows and the sticks came out, and of course the flamboyant gestures begun. He knew better than to try maneuvers like those of some sword fighter in medieval times, but he just couldn’t resist. In between “dodge” and “spin” I think, was when he managed to get his stick - with cooked (and very sticky) marshmallow – stuck in my hair, at the back of my left pigtail. Again, I won’t bore you with the gory details the only thing I will say is that I bear no permanent scars from the event.

At the time, I was mortified and crushed that I could be subject to such cruelty (and all in one night too!) But you know what? I wouldn’t trade those memories now for anything in the world. I seem to remember my Dad telling me that such experiences “built character”, and he was right. They are the stuff that holds families and friendships together. After all, my cousin sent me a flaming marshmallow on Facebook not too long ago, in honour of the event. Such symbols are like rites of passage.

There is one other piece to this puzzle I would like you to contemplate... what do you think it says about a person if they are the type who likes to flame their marshmallow versus slow-roasting it over the coals? Are you attracted to that impulsive nature that says you should jump in and take the heat, or do you prefer the measured practice of ensuring the perfectly roasted treat? And if you are looking for a way to change your life, maybe this is a way to test things out – try your next marshmallow a new way! Or better yet, let someone else roast one for you. Such are the joys of a shared campfire.

“Kumbaya” to each and every one of you.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.