Except for organized, group events, I don’t remember really having any kind of bonfire growing up. It just wasn’t something we did. Part of it was likely where I grew up, for certainly kids who grew up in the country must have had bonfires. But for those of us who grew up in developments planned right down to the arrangement of identical-floor-plan houses, it probably never happened. At least it never happened in my universe.
For K, on the other hand, growing up in Poland, they were like baseball games or tailgating in the south: just something one did. Go for a walk in any of the woods that surround K’s home village and you’ll eventually find a spot where some group or other threw some rocks in a circle and lit a fire. And many houses have a fire pit somewhere on the property.
Since Nana and Papa gave us a fire ring that someone gave them — it’s Christmas all year round in our backyard — we’ve been having bonfires fairly reguarly as the weather permits, which means generally spring and fall. Open fires in 90 degree heat and pea-soup humidity are not very pleasant, but now that things have cooled down and the humidity has dropped to normal level, we try to have a little fire every now and then. The kids adore it, and we find it’s an almost magical family time. But there was always something missing: food. We roasted weenies on sticks sometimes and made s’mores every now and then, but that’s nothing compared to the feasts Poles prepare on their bonfires. This week, though, we bought a cheap kit to suspend a grill over the flames, and tonight, it was like being back in Lipnica again.