RV Life - Back Issues

The Fire Starter

I can build a fire. In my living room, that is. The elements are calm inside my house. Wind gusts are negligible, freezing hands not an issue. From the warmth of my manor and an accommodating fire grate, I can build you a masterpiece of wood and flame. In fact, I’m so good I rarely use newspaper. Frankly, it’s beneath me. My preferred starter is birch bark. That stuff burns like gasoline. I know this because I’m a fire junkie, and am not afraid to experiment. I love fire. I consider it like my third child, and a hotheaded youth at that. If you need a fire built, I’m your guy. Just look in the Yellow Pages under “Fire Master.”

Never mind the fact that the soft birch and steady hickory I use is chopped, aged, and transported to my Chicago garage from Missouri by two guys who drive their flatbed through my neighborhood every October. It’s always some random Saturday morning when the doorbell rings and the duo convince me I need another cord of wood. Who am I to refuse? The power could go off at any time, I figure. The family just may need to rely on precious fire for cooking and heating this winter. Funny how a man under a pyromaniacal spell can justify such needs.

Proper Planning
My obsession burns off-season, too. Did I mention I spend half my summer binding piles of kindling with twine? I’ve got a 10-foot x10-foot stack raring to go. I’ve led tours of my garage for all the boys. They’ve seen the meticulously stacked piles of ole’ hickory, the perfect aligned kindling bundles awaiting deployment. And yes, I’ve felt the hot, jealous stares of my friends. Many of the poor saps don’t even have fireplaces! Hah! In case you’re wondering, no, the garage is off-limits to vehicles. I joyfully report that it’s too full of wood to accommodate much else. The wood is waiting. Always read to burn. Mmmmm, burn, wood, burn.

Obviously, my fire-building prowess is well known. You’ve heard of me, right? I’m the guy who can build a fire without paper, remember? Anyway, the latest campout with pals gave me a showcase to demonstrate my skills, au natural. (No, I wasn’t naked!) The afternoon started to wane and it was time to construct my latest masterpiece. Sure, I could have toted along a stack or two of my deluxe, never-fail kindling, but I like a challenge.

I spent the morning assembling the perfect starter sticks, with piles of increasingly larger sticks in order to feed the flame. The bigger pieces I purchased from the camp store at a deplorable rate. Still, this fire was going to be different. Yes, you know me as the guy who builds fire without paper. But, I’ve done all that. No, this fire was going to be started—drum roll please—from scratch. I was going to go old-school on this one, using nothing but a sturdy stick, a piece of bark, and plenty of moxie. It all came down to friction, using the stick to wear a hot trail across the bark until a white-hot ember formed. From there, a small collection of dry leaves and grasses awaited as a perfect nesting spot for my sweet, elusive flame. Needless to say, the boys were mighty impressed—although, well, sometimes they have a hard time showing it. Again, jealously is an ugly trait.

Tough Job
Now, people, let me say that creating a spark sans lighter or matchstick is no easy chore. I hadn’t sweat that much since the Cubs blew a three games to one lead in the 2003 playoffs. In fact, 45 minutes of dragging that stick back and forth along that wooden base at speeds in excess of 69,000 miles per hour resulted in nothing more than blisters and anger. Oh, and a few unprintable words for my giggling crew. Don’t think I didn’t notice nature mocking me, either. Stupid, nature. The spark never came. I nearly required an ER visit from the pain in my hands, fingers and back. Oh, the cramping, the cramping. I couldn’t bend or rub anymore. I threw my tools of ignorance into the darkness and grabbed a matchbook. Just like the pilgrims did.

You see, I hate to burst your bubble, but simply put, starting a fire from scratch is impossible. It can’t be done. Never, under any circumstances. You read your Jack London, right? I mean, ever seen anyone do it? Oh, yeah? Are you sure that person wasn’t some kind of magician or sorcerer? As a kid, I remember a campout where someone “started” a fire by rubbing two sticks together, but, in hindsight, I think it was a hoax. Kind of like man landing on the moon. Looking back, I’m pretty sure we might have been camped on a studio lot or perhaps on “Candid Camera.” The “discovery” of fire by prehistoric man was also a joke. Not without a trusty Bic lighter, he didn’t. I know this is hard news to swallow, but I thought you should know. As for those laughing friends of mine. Well, they can go home and hug their space heaters. Tonight, I’m building a fire without a single piece of newspaper!