Campfire

When I first dropped down into Florida, I camped out in the National Forest west of Tallahassee. I rewired a circuit breaker for the camp host before I had even paid for my site. The host came walking up to my tent that evening with some fat wood for my troubles. I’ve been carrying that resin-soaked kindling around ever since.

In Key Largo, I had a gentleman give me some firewood. The stuff was beautiful! I believe he said it was “live oak”, but I could be mistaken. “You use this stuff in campfires?” I asked. It should be savored in wood stoves in minus forty degree weather, not wasted in fire rings in Florida in the summer. Still, I’ve carried six pieces of that around in my small car too.

As the trip winds down, I’ve grown tired of the wood chips, although the wood scent is nice. In “Highlands” I finally broke down and had two consecutive nights with a campfire. That wood: twisted like northern elm, but grained and heavy like oak, seemed to burn forever. The fat wood I think could have damn near started itself. Wonderful stuff all around.

In the end, I left two pieces of the live oak with some campers who were staying a bit longer. It was beautiful stuff, but I wasn’t going to haul it back to Fairbanks just to feel those BTU’s at -40. Not to say, I did not give it some thought.

About icefogger

Just a basic, down to Earth, laid back type of guy here, who loves the outdoors, the indoors, jazz on the turntable, a fire in the woodstove, the northern lights blazing across the sky, and the company of good friends. View all posts by icefogger

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