Winter Camping for Wimps

“Boys,” Sandi said, “get your coats on. We’re building a fire in the chimenea.”

I lifted my head and stared at her. Normally, harebrained ideas are my bailiwick.

James looked up from his tablet, then glanced toward the window. “Mom, it’s

snowing.”

            “So what? It’ll be like going on a campout.”

Ian rose from the couch and parted the drapes. “It’s coming down hard, Mom. And, it’s not even dark, yet.”

“Let’s take advantage of the snowfall and show that we’re not wimps,” I said. “It’ll be an adventure, just like the pioneers.”

Fifteen minutes later, we sat in lawn chairs around some pitifully small flames. “Mom,” Ian said, “It’s cold out here. Why can’t we have a big fire?”

“We have to warm the chimenea up slowly, so it doesn’t crack. Be patient, it won’t be long before we have a roaring fire. Besides, Dad has some cocoa heating up in the coffee maker. It’ll be perfect in a few minutes, too.”

James took off a glove and gave the side a quick touch. “It’s warm, but not too hot.”

“OK, guys, let’s stoke it up.”

Sandi oversaw the boys as they built up the fire while I went inside and filled four insulated mugs with hot cocoa. When I returned, we warmed our hands at a very comfortable blaze and sipped hot drinks.

“See?” I brushed snow off my chair and sat. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

James drained his mug. “OK, can I go back inside, now?”

Ian tossed another log on the fire. “Yeah, I’m ready, too.”

Sandi gave them a tolerant smile. Oh, all right. Go on in.”

I scooted my chair closer to Sandi’s and took her hand in mine. “We’re still pioneers, aren’t we?”

She squeezed my hand. “You bet we are.”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.