In Celebration of Fire
By Foy Valentine
"Whatsoever things are…lovely…think on these things."
Philippians 4:8
Fire was thought by ancient Greeks to have been brought to earth by Prometheus who had lighted a torch at the sun`s chariot. In Rome the Vestal Virgins tended the sacred fire kept perpetually burning on the altar of the goddess Vesta. Earlier and more primitive people give evidence of having employed and treasured fire. It is now accepted that no fireless tribe of humans has ever been found.
I have just survived a winter ice storm in which fire took on new charm, new image, and new wonder.
Due to an utterly uncharacteristic attack of foresight, I had used one pleasant fall day, months ago, to lay by me in store a full cord of seasoned wood. Well. The thing that actually triggered this alleged foresight was a little ad, semi-literate, in the newspaper offering a full cord of wood for the decidedly reasonable price of $75, with an extra charge of $30 if they delivered it and stacked it. If you don`t know, then let me tell you something. That is a very un-New Millenniumish price. So I called and took the woman up on the offer. She said yes, they would deliver the wood the next day. The next day I waited expectantly until it was pitch dark when I reluctantly gave them up, with not a few pejorative thoughts about the promise breakers. After a few days, however, my pejoratives cooled, somewhat. I would have called somebody else, but all of their prices were much too high for my emphatically plebeian inclinations. So I called my original firewood mongerer, she of the broken promises, and inquired as to what had happened. It seems that a few days before when they had finally got the trailer loaded with the wood, it was dark and that since their old truck didn`t have any lights, they couldn`t see to make the delivery. Okay, I allowed. Could they deliver it tomorrow? Yes.
So they came the next afternoon, about six of them in the odometer-challenged old pickup, pulling a long, ramshackled trailer loaded down with my wood. As they stacked this wood, it was plain to see that this was no ordinary load of wood. Believe me. There was pecan, mulberry, mesquite, hickory, elm, hackberry, pine, a little oak, and-hold tight-a generous sprinkling of bois d`arc. A little of it was the requisite 24 inches long. But most of it varied, free range-as they say, between 10 inches and 30 inches in length. No matter. At least not much matter. The fire hardly knows the difference anyway.
So, as I was saying when you interrupted.
There was this ice storm.
Now picture this. Snow and ice cover the ground. A blue norther has blown in. Nothing more substantial than a barbed wire fence has hindered it on its blustery journey between here and the North Pole. As the man said to Admiral Byrd at the North Pole in a howling blizzard, "Man, I bet it`s cold in Amarillo today."
And now picture this. A fine stack of this aforementioned wood has been laid in my fine stone fireplace in my very pleasant study. The kindling has cooperatively caught the proffered spark. In short order, the fire and the wood have enthusiastically embraced each other. In one of the world`s splendidist wonders, it has become a roaring fire.
And me? I have backed up to this thing of beauty, this joy forever, this splendid fire. And I am toasting my backside in a glorious ritual as old as humanity, although I can personally vouch for only 76 years of this glorious serendipity. Delicious. Wonderful. Fantastic.
Only reluctantly do I turn myself, not unlike a marshmallow held on a long fork over the fire and rotated just before it swells and bursts into flame.
In due time the fire burns down. Coals are formed and tumble in on each other. The andirons and the grate are white hot. I draw up my easy chair and prop my feet up on the foot high hearth, in a position calculated to toast them just right without harming my shoe soles. It is pure ecstasy.
"Paradise enow," as old Omar Khayaam was wont to say.
Drop by some winter day and join me for a visit by the fire. Proud to have you. We can just sit a spell and stare at the fire.
