Dad’s Fire Pit. (Photo © F. P. Dorchak, August 13, 2016)
What is it about fire that we so love?
I don’t mean all those massively destructive ones that ruin lives, but the far smaller, controllable ones that we love to sit or stand around and stare into.
The ones that seem to enrich our lives.
The ones around which we talk and weave stories and take in the crackling wood, dancing flames, and shooting sparks that fly off into the night?
I’ve read that fires bestow healing qualities to those who stare into them, and I do believe that must be the case. Maybe not so much a physically healing quality—but maybe so, who knows?—but certainly emotional and psychic healing. I love to hang around those kinds of fires. The fire pits…the camp fires. And my dad having one of these (I have to get one!) was really neat.
As the lot of us converged at my dad and stepmom’s place for our summer vacation and my dad’s 80th birthday, we hung out at the fire pit. Standing…sitting…trading stories. Conversation. Enjoying the night and the company (and Alek, Greg’s son, did a fine job of getting it started and keep it running—thanks, Alek!). On one of those nights, I stood and conversed with a friend of my dad’s who’s had a fair amount of paranormal experiences that he’d been wanting to talk about with me for some time. Every time we’d met, over the past few years, he’d bring up some really weird stuff…about how doors open or close without people doing it…or hearing footsteps in hallways while no one was there. That kind of thing. But he’s always been on his way, or we’ve been on ours. We’d always begin talking about the experiences, then would never really complete those conversations and I always got the feeling there was so much more he’d wanted to talk about. Anyway, it was fun finally getting to swap those stories in a continuous, uninterrupted conversation with him about both of our experiences!
But, it was also neat being in the “atmosphere” of the fire pit, where my other family members were also talking and laughing among themselves! While I was in conversation with my dad’s friend, I was also pleasantly conscious of the other conversations and laughing going on with the others, and it warmed my heart. Family members with whom I don’t get to see nor be physically around with much anymore, though we do communicate with in all the usual, technological ways of today. We were all standing and sitting in the backyard…in the night…around a warmly burning fire….
I felt the love…I felt the emotional and psychic “healing.”
What is it about being around fire pits?
I’m not sure…but I love it.
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Runnin Off at the Mouth.... 
I know what you mean about fire. There’s something inherently alluring about it, despite its destructive power. I think it’s because it can be dangerous, yes, but also so useful when harnessed for good, so we can’t help being at least a bit fascinated by it.
Caveman security, warding off creatures and cold. I always think of hormonally dramatic middle school emotions as us girlscouts told tales around the fire.
Growing up, my dad was always big on having a fire in the evening. He picked the love of it up from his father who always had a small blaze going in the backyard during the summer. Fire, much like wild animals, is something that can be enjoyed, but must always be shown the proper respect. I heat exclusively with wood in the winter and every day I put the stove on, I make a point to remember its destructive powers. Just one little careless spark is all it takes. But it can be used for so much good. It keeps us warm, cooks our food. Like so many things in life, all we have to do to reap the benefits is respect it.
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