Problems with bonfires are soon revealed

“There is something settling about sitting around a bonfire on a nice cool night,” says my buddy Turk Mudge from his seat atop a log.

“Yup,” says Rooster Croft from his rock. “I love staring at the flames. No mosquitos to swat. And I like the sound of tree frogs grumbling and cicadas buzzing in the woods.”

“There are only three downsides,” says Turk.

“You’re right,” says Rooster, sighing.

“What in the world are you guys talking about?” I ask. “There are no downsides to sitting around a bonfire.”

“Three of ’em,” says Turk.

“He’s right,” says Rooster. “A wicked trio.”

“Name one!” I say, sitting on my log holding a long green stick with a marshmallow on the end.

“The first one’s easy,” says Turk.

“Easy as pie,” says Rooster.

“What?” I say.

“Smoke,” says Turk. “(cough).”

“No matter where you sit, the smoke finds you,” says Rooster, blinking smoke-induced tears out of his eyes.

“(cough cough),” I say, not able to get any actual words out of my mouth.

“The second one may be even more annoying,” says Rooster.

“That’s for sure,” says Turk, poking at the smoldering wood with the butt end of his marshmallow stick.

“I’ll give you the (cough cough cough) first one, but there’s no way you can come up with two negatives, let alone three,” I say, moving over a couple of feet on my log.

The smoke follows me.

“Number two,” says Turk. “Most annoying.”

“Yes, indeed,” says Rooster. “It is lighting the fire and getting it to stay lit.”

I look at the smoldering pile in the center of the fire pit. We’ve been waiting for flames for quite a while now — ever since the wadded newspaper burned out.

“My dad always used to say there are three things that every man thinks he can do better than every other man,” says Turk.

“Yeah?” says Rooster. “What?”

“Manage a baseball team, tie a good knot and start a bonfire,” says Turk.

We look around the circle at each other in the fading twilight. We all had a hand in building this so-called fire that more resembles a smudge pot in a frosty spring orchard than an actual blaze.

“How ’bout those Tigers?” says Rooster.

“I can tie a square knot,” says Turk.

“I can tie a bowline one-handed,” I say, making circles in the air with the snow-white marshmallow at the end of my stick.

“Well…” says Turk

“Uh huh…” says Rooster.

“(ough cough)” I add.

“Now, the third one is the fun sucker,” says Turk.

“Hey! Look at that!” exclaims Rooster, referring to a tiny flame that has just sneaked out from under a log.

“Wow! Finally,” I say, holding my marshmallow over the heat.

It immediately falls off the stick and into the fire, but it turns out that sugar is a good accelerant. Soon, we have a real fire going.

“See how the flames eat the smoke?” says Turk. The heat carries tiny embers straight up into the now-dark sky.

“That’s cool,” says Rooster. “Or hot, I should say.”

We sit for a few moments, enjoying the heat, light and crackle of the blaze.

Loading our green sticks with marshmallows, we toast away, being careful to barely brown them in an age-old and unspoken competition for perfection.

No matter how pleasant the experience, the question has to be posed.

“OK. I give. What’s the third downside?” I ask.

Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss hiss. Hiss hiss hiss hiss. Hiss hiss hiss hiss hiss.

“There you go!” says Rooster.

“It always rains once the fire gets going,” says Turk.

Jim Whitehouse Lives in Albion.

This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Jim Whitehouse: Problems with bonfires are soon revealed