Rory FitzgeraldAutumn is deepening. The last few brave flowers bloom through carpets of rusty leaves. Stark branches reach towards the glowering skies. The night surprises us, arriving early, and uninvited – a cold and unwelcome guest. Yet even the cold night is made warm and welcome by the fire, which we gather around each evening.
All boys are borderline pyromaniacs. Each retains a healthy spark – as it were – of man’s primordial fascination with fire. I have recently put Sean’s natural interest in fire to constructive use. When we need a fire, I simply say, “Sean, set the fire” and he immediately goies about it, enthusiastically and quite expertly.
Having avidly watched my every move with kindling, coal and logs since he was a toddler, he knows just what to do. He puts the ashes out, cleans the stove glass, draws in the logs and kindling form the garage and creates a work of art in the grate. The actual lighting is closely supervised, but he visibly grows at doing such a helpful grown-up task and warming the family. Once the fire’s is lit, he sits and stares at the dancing flames in proud contempation.
Habits
After long summer evenings of swimming, surfing and langurous walks through warm fields, the early darkness has forced a change in our habits. Our evenings are now spent indoors, where there is time for talk, reading, stories and for exercising the imagination. Indeed, now that the season has us under house arrest perhaps we travel further than ever, albeit inwardly.
Through the gothic majesty of late autumn, woodland groves are transmuted into cathedrals of shadow and sillhouette, carpeted by scented mouldering leaves. To children’s eyes, the woods are full of fascinating mushrooms, insects, squirrels – and every bush is a potential den. Once their eyes are opened to nature, many children prefer it even to the lure of x-boxes and ipads.
A couple of weeks ago, for his birthday, Sean wanted nothing more than to have a party in the woods – with a big bonfire, needless to say. In the end, he settled for a gathering of his friends under the autumn trees in back our garden. We lit a bonfire, and let the children cut down their own bamboo canes upon which they toasted marshmallows and sweet bread over the bonfire.
Some might say that there are potential health and safety implications to plying 7-year-olds with sugar, and giving them pointy sticks and fire to play with. Yet too much of childhood has been ruined by the overprotective instincts of our age. The children were surpisingly sensible around the fire, and all loved the experience, which was something entirely new for many of them. The party passed off merrily, without anyone losing the proverbial eye, in the traditional warning so beloved of the Irish mammy.
After the other children had gone home, we sat out by the bonfire as a family long into the evening. Stars appeared overhead and the fire warmed us, even as a cool breeze came in from the sea. After a happy day, Sean snuggled into me, sighed and said, “this was the best birthday ever.”