I've always been fascinated with fire; I find it captivating and relaxing. There's something pleasing about moments spent around the fire, gazing into its depths, the dance of the flames and the crackle of wood burning. To me fire seems wholesome and comforting.
You can see one of my campfires in this image; It was a pretty good one too! This fire is in its early stages with thick logs happily burning away. Later it burned down to low embers, throwing a comforting heat and allowing me to stretch my legs towards it, tilt my head skyward and star watch.
You can even see a few foil-wrapped potato's in the foreground cooking on the coals...Yep, it's wholesome. baked potato's slathered with butter...Yum!
But alas, my fires have not always been so wholesome. My fascination with fire wasn't always relaxing, peaceful and idyllic. I don't mean I was a pyromaniac or anything like that, just that sometimes fire got me into a little bit of trouble. Pesky fire!
One such occasion was when I was about 8 years old...I was raised in a small country town and we had a bit of land which, over the period of a year, would generate waste. My parents had a burn-pile, the bonfire we called it, out in the back paddock and over the year it would grow larger with just about anything that would burn: Garden clippings, tree branches, general household rubbish and the like. Once a year we would burn it off and, as you can imagine for a little fire-loving kid like me burn-pile fire day was a great day!
The day of the infamous burn-pile incident of 1979 started like any other, only that for me it was fuelled by the excitement of the impending festivities, namely the burning of the bonfire. I hardly felt like eating although I managed to shovel some Vegemite toast and a few gulps of orange juice into my gob before I raced out to the back paddock to survey the gigantic burn-pile. It was magnificent! Seriously, the best one in all of my nine whole years of life. I didn't know the dimensions at the time of course, but thinking now it would have been around 15 metres long, 8 metres wide and some 2-3 metres high, give or take. A big pile which would burn for over a day and smoulder for 2-3 days. You bloody ripper!
We would have to tend the fire, pushing stray bits into the flames to ensure a clean burn...So much fun, playing with fire. It was pretty cool that I was raised to know how to properly treat fire too. It was an important skill. Everything was set for one of the greatest days of my life and I was itching to get going...Although it was a little windy.
The bonfire was off and I was crestfallen! I'd waited all year for this. Now, looking back I understand completely. Isn't the clarity of hindsight wonderful? It would have been irresponsible to light that fire in those conditions and even though we had made a fire-break to prevent the entire paddock from lighting up it was deemed by my grandfather to be too dangerous. Everyone went back to the house to other tasks...It was a large property so there was always something to do. But my mind strayed back to that fire-pile begging for a match to get it started.
Now don't judge here, but I simply couldn't stand the thought of that pile just sitting there all by itself and so I went back to the paddock to visit it. I said hello, wandered around, prodded some of the tree-waste further onto the pile, looked skward and felt the stiff breeze on my face, cursed it...And cast furtive glances back towards the homestead...Back to the burn-pile, back to the house...
I kicked the dirt of the fire break angrily cursing the wind under my breath and thrust my hands into the pockets of my jeans in frustration...And felt something in there. Yep, the box of matches. You see, this year I was given permission to light the fire by my grandfather. It was an honour I took very seriously as the fire-loving little bugger I was. I had had those matches in my pocket all morning in anticipation of the ceremonial lighting and feeling them in my hand right then...Ideas began to spark.
No judgement please, but after a few more furtive glances back to the house and a thorough inspection of the pile, the fire-break and the wind me, in all my 9-year-old wisdom, deemed it safe to light the fire. Yes, I know right? I wish I could take it back...But 40 years later I'm an adult and have the ability to think things through, at the time I was a kid who needed fire!
Like an idiot I lit the fire. I did everything right, just as I was told earlier by grandad although, like an idiot, I lit the fire at the leeward end of the pile, the down-wind end. The fire caught, flames hungrily eating into the pile. The problem's started though when the wind picked up a piece of flaming cardboard and cast it cruelly into the grasses of the paddock downwind. Oh such cruel fate. Good fortune why did you forsake me!
I made an attempt to extinguish the flames that must have looked quite comical at the time but it was too late, they took hold quickly and went racing off encouraged by the wind. As if to punctuate my miserable position the wind picked up...Oh what fresh hell is this I probably thought. Or maybe I was just shitting my pants knowing I was going to get a bollocking for this.
I raced off to the house shouting FIRE FIRE FIRE, knowing that the situation was dire, and rallied my family who, after some initial shock about what I was saying, raced to attend the rapidly expanding fire. I think I received a clip around the ears as they ran past me...Yep, I deserved that.
This was in the mid-morning and by late afternoon the fire was out. Of the nearly 2 acre paddock (8,000 sqm) about half was burned out...And the bloody burn-pile was still intact. Just my luck huh? Oh fate, thou art a cruel friend.
My punishment for that event involved a smacking. A well deserved one. It also involved me having to apologise formally to my family and the neighbours who could have lost their homes through my idiotic act. Lesson learned? Hmm, most definitely probably.
Events that occur in our lives all teach us valuable lessons and that day I learned many that would stick with me for life. Do I regret my actions? Of course! I could have been responsible for people losing their homes, including my own family. I could also have been killed. Did I ever do stupid things again? Of course, that too. But I learned from that day, like I have all through my life with other events and occurrences, That's part of life isn't it? Learning from mistakes, from success, failure, good and bad times?
I don't go about lighting random fires these days. I have more restraint. I still love me a good fire though. In fact as you read this I'm probably sitting around a fire at Spear Creek with my mates talking shit at that shooting event I wrote about a couple days ago.
So, there's a little true story from my youth for you, a story with a moral...Don't be an idiot like I was, and don't play with fire...When the wind is blowing the wrong way.
One day you should remind me to tell you about the great jerry can fire of 1981...It's a good story, again starring none other than me, the 11 year old version, with a cameo appearance by my oldest brother who almost ended up burned to a crisp. Ah, good times, good times.
Yeah, so maybe I didn't learn all the appropriate lessons back in 1979! Boys will be boys though right? (I'm surprised i survived my childhood to be honest, but fortunately for you all, I did!)
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default
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P.s. If I don't respond immediately it's because I'm sitting around the campfire at Spear Creek and probably don't have great phone service. I'll get back at you if you leave a comment though.