Camp Fire in the Fall

"I just love the smell of decomposing leaves in the morning."

This Fall has been different.  At least I think that it has.  It seems like the leaves are all changing at different times.  Some trees have already turned and fallen and some trees are still really green.   It doesn't seem like it is normally like that.  I wonder why.  And, in my humble opinion, it doesn't make for the prettiest Fall ever.

"Really, mom, jumping on fallen black walnut leaves, and an occasional stick and black walnut, is as good as a foot massage."

Our black walnut tree is dying.  SO so SO so sad!  It is the tree in our backyard that has the field hockey stick hanging from it, and has the trampoline under it.  Weston has already cut down part of it.  So sad will be the day when it all has to come down.  I am quite partial to trees in general, but especially to really cool ones that are in my yard that provide so much entertainment and shade and beauty.  A cool tree dying is one thing, but a cool tree dying in the desert where there are so few cool trees in the first place is a sad thing indeed.

"Yipee!" and "Howdy."

Last night we had a little camp fire thing.  

"I just LOVE moving rocking chairs that match my shirt."

It started out to be a fire to just burn branches and stuff.

"Can I burn this one, Daddy?  I do believe that the fire is at its peak temperature for adding such material."

"Now, children, if you hold the stick like so, it illuminates the most interesting connection with the sun itself."

"...yes, and a flibbertigibbet, or even a will-o'-the-wisp.  Don't you think?"

Grover becomes like a deer in headlights when he is faced with fire.

"Look, guys!  I found just the thing to throw on the fire to create the best toxic fumes ever: an old inter tube.  It'll create the blackest smoke in the world and a really great smell!"

"Really? That's how you solve the problem?  That's really how you find the word that it means?"
"Yes, and it is also how you keep a wave upon the sand and how you hold a moonbeam in your hand."
"Ah-ha!"

"Mom, look what happened when I mixed some sand that I ground from a rock and some lye that I mixed up with last week's ashes.  Well, I had to shape it a bit in the hot fire, too, of course, but I am really quite pleased with the outcome."

After a while we all got hungry and decided it would be in our best interest to break out some grub.

Nothing beats homemade biscuits.
Really, not even these.  These seem to leave a bit of a film on the roof of one's mouth.

Weston is a seasoned dutch-oven-on-the-camp-fire cooker.

Chopped taters, home grown sausage, a little oil, onions, and good ol' salt and pepper +
some hot coals = som'in tasty good.

"So, mom, are dem really the healthiest for us when dem are burnt black as carbon, like you said?"

"Hey, hon, check it out: we should submit our biscuit recipe to Southern Living magazine.  It would totally be published.  Just look at this masterpiece!"

Grover, embarrassed by his ceaseless stare, moves in to drown his woes in butter and grape jelly."

"What am I looking at?"

"Camp fires at Weston and Carrie's house are totally the bomb!  I think that I shall stay here forever."