We had pitched our tent by the time the sunset sent orange flares across the lake. Kelly and I agreed we were hungry.
“I’ll start filling the air mattresses,” I said, and Kelly said, “I’ll get going on dinner!”
We had set up camp in the non-electric camping area on Cowan Lake, a peaceful, quiet area between thick woods and the lake.
Kelly had wonderfully taken care of the firewood, and we had decided on chili dogs and chips and salsa. She unloaded the wood from the truck and I started filling the mattresses.
Our campsite was close to the beach, and in the dusk I could see some of the neighboring campers. Across the way, a couple with a large dog had spray painted “Just married,” on a huge piece of plywood outside their tent. (I had suggested we congratulate them, but Kelly wanted to stay far away.)
Kelly even tried power steering fluid to see if it was flammable. It created an interesting smell, but didn’t get the flames to spread.
The sun was gone and it was dark by the time I made it over to the fire ring. Kelly was standing over it, trying to get a flame to catch.
“I don’t know what’s going on with this wood,” she said. “It doesn’t want to burn.”
Over the next hour, we tried everything. We burned an entire legal pad of paper, one piece at a time. We took a knife and cut kindling from the wood. Kelly even tried power steering fluid to see if it was flammable. It created an interesting smell, but didn’t get the flames to spread.
Then we started on our neighbors. The men at the nearby campsites were somewhat helpful. We used their lighter fluid to douse our wood and one of them even brought a burning log from his own fire. At first the flames started to catch, but then they died away again.
“Sorry,” our neighbor said, after wildly fanning the logs for ten minutes. “I don’t know what the issue is.” He made his way back to his campsite.
By this time, I was so desperate to eat that I was shoving hotdogs hopelessly into the dying flickers. The pot of chili had been sitting in the fire where we thought it may possibly have been contaminated by the power steering fluid, but we didn’t care.
“I think these are done,” I lied.
“OK,” Kelly said.
And remarkably, after an evening of kayaking, swimming, and setting up a tent, lukewarm hotdogs and chili taste absolutely amazing.
After dinner we looked at each other. Neither of us was willing to be defeated by the fire, although I have to admit I was more ambivalent about it.
“Let’s go to town,” Kelly said.
Speedway, as usual, held the answers. We picked up a gallon of water, charcoal, some gummy bears and the miracle of fire starter.
When we got back, the camping area was pitch black, but we had a roaring fire going within minutes. We got into our ridiculous pajamas, which I had to concede were not only warm and comfortable but also totally cute, and sat down by the fire.
We stayed up late talking and listening to the crickets and the lapping water on the beach. It was a clear night, and far across the lake, heat lightning flickered sporadically over the woods.
When I wrote this adventure on my list, I had merely written, “Sleep outside.” I smiled. This experience had been so much more than that. I climbed into my sleeping bag, set my alarm for just before sunrise, and fell asleep to the rhythmic calls of crickets and frogs.