The Space Between

This weekend I traveled to Camp Cedarledge with my Girl Scout troop for their first camping experience. We stayed in a heated lodge with bunkbeds--more like a weekend-long slumber party than a campout. We had a stove, for goodness' sake.

I wanted to light one fire at least, though. We'd been practicing fire-building for a long time, little games and even edible fires (pretzel logs are fuel, coconut is tinder, and so forth). A few girls came outside with me to the fire pit and we went over the basics of an A-frame starter fire. Everything was so wet and some of it was even frozen, that it took two starter fires to get anything really started. We had a quick flame up and it died away. I fanned the few red embers as they lay on a sliver of wax paper we were using as a firestarter. They caught again and I had a few girls hurry to find more tinder.

And out it went. We just couldn't get the kindling to catch, and the larger pieces looked hopeless. Hours literally went by as I continued the attempts--and this is NOT the first fire I've lit, trust me. I'm pretty quick with a handful of pine needles, tiny twigs, moss, and woomph! the twigs are caught and hurry with the bigger pieces. I knelt, and later sat because my knees were tired, wondering if I'd lost my touch, right when I least needed that to happen. Still, it took me a total of only two matches in the end because my co-leader appeared at the door somewhat annoyed and ordered all the girls to go foraging on the ground for all the tiny sticks they could find. She's good like that. Suddenly I had more kindling than I knew what to do with. We fed that fire and got some good embers going and finally felt like we could add real fuel. My co-leader stepped outside to tend it while I wolfed down the chili the girls had made inside on the stove....

I sent her back in with everyone else while I went out to see if anything needed to happen with the fire outside. She gave me a doubtful look as we passed in the doorway, and immediately I knew why: it had started drizzling. It was December and we'd already had two girls go home sick and there was no way we were going to sit out by a campfire and force these girls to be happy singers and skit-makers. There would be no first-fire ceremony this trip. We might get the brown bears toasted (biscuits on a stick that are then dipped in butter and cinnamon sugar) a few girls at a time, but it was time to cut our losses and face reality.

I sat down on one of the logs at the edge of the fire circle listening to the rain hiss as it hit the flame. I could also hear the girls inside excitedly cleaning up dinner and getting the biscuit dough out. Butter melting on the stove. The moms in attendance laughing with each other in the glow of the kitchen.

I stared at the fire. I let my eyes sort of go soft, noticing the darkness of the logs with the fire in the spaces between. Fire needs air and fuel and spark. Logs catch fire but they aren't the fire. The fire is between the logs. I found myself smiling, feeling the drops of rain dribble off the brim of my hat onto my jeans, soaking in. In the kitchen behind me was fire, too. All these people--my troop is made up of girls from 5 schools and the adults in attendance had little in common on the surface as well--were working together and laughing and spending time in each others' company. We were all burning together towards a common goal. We were creating a community where just a few days ago there was only fuel and air. Now there was spark. And fire.

Our fire might have been a failure this weekend, but our weekend was on fire.