So the men started the fire. They had a huge pile of cut wood, with several trees worth piled higher than our heads. All the wood had been soaked in diesel fuel just to make it easier to light.
It was a little cloudy, thank God, or it would have been unbearably cold out. There was a full moon. We were 50 miles from nowhere. The homeowners' dogs were running everywhere.
We all gathered around the bonfire and watched the sparks shooting up into the sky, into the trees in the distance, into the dry brown grass, which we stomped out from time to time, and into someone's lap every now and then.
Drinking, farting, and dodging sparks shooting out of the blazing furnace, that's how we spent our evening. We talked all night. It got colder and colder out as the night wore on. Before long I became aware that, although I had moved so close to the fire as to nearly be sitting in the middle of it, the side of me that was not facing the fire was frozen.
Next I knew it was nearly 2 a.m. The dogs were now growling and barking, each one facing the same direction and looking into the darkness.
"Are those coyotes back," one of the homeowners asked of the dogs. The dogs just kept growling.
After 2 a.m. we finally packed up and went home. All day Sunday we sat on the couch recovering from having frozen our butts off and eating too much chili. We didn't go to church, but with the gas I was expelling that was more for the benefit of everyone else than for us.
I wonder how long before we get to do that again? My Wife is already anxious to go back.
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