Smores: some sort of chocolate, marshmallow thing or: That which separates us from the Neanderthals

Last weekend Cath and I took part in an ancient ritual that has drawn folks together for a couple of hundred thousand years: the campfire!

Now, what I know about the history of the campfire could be inscribed on the knee of a bee but I expect that the partakers of the campfire ritual in ancient times were forced into it for a variety of reasons not least of all no central heating, no microwaves, no newspapers and finally: NO TELEVISION. The campfire provided what was lacking in so far as it kept people warm, gave them a means to cook dinner, become informed and I expect, like our campfire on the weekend, it kept people entertained.

The highlight of our evening was just spending time with our two best, childhood cronies Cathy P. (the p is for clarity) and Peg. But the four of us have done that before and though it is always a celebration of life and of friendship there was something quite unique about sitting in the dark, until the wee hours, sharing everyday “ghost stories”, blackened wieners and the coup de grace: “smores” that will be remembered long, long after the intensity of our common embers begin to glow less brightly though always with warmth.

I’m not sure what it is but there is some mesmerizing demand and reciprocal obedience between the campfire and the mortal. And the campfire is an ancestral linkage that draws civilizations together over time. It is the fire that unites the spirit of modern humans in lawn chairs with smores with their ancient counterparts who most probably sat cross legged in the dirt with pterodactyl wings dripping from sticks over the open pit.

FIRE . . . it is a good thing . . .