There is nothing like sitting around a roaring fire roasting marshmallows on a hot summer night. Choosing the right stick is of paramount importance. It has to be long and narrow with smooth bark. A pointy end helps; otherwise the marshmallow develops a huge hole and has been know to fall into the flame. Not that this has ever happened to me, of course. Ahem. There are various techniques to toasting. I prefer the char-it-till-it’s-black method. But then I have no patience for the slow-constant-turning method. I actually like when it catches fire. After blowing it out, I slip off the outer layer and pop it into my mouth then put the marshmallow back in. The underlayer then toasts to a gooey golden brown.
As I sat starring into the flames last night, the neighbors popped over with their 2 girls. I sent them off to the wood pile to select sticks. They toasted and ate marshmallow after marshmallow, thrilled with the woodsy-ness of it all. We fed the fire late into the night; telling stories, pointing out constellations, listening to the trill of the tree frogs and the random early bang of firecrackers. I love being part of the innocence of childhood.