Plastic fire

I love a good wood fire be it outside or inside. I have a house with a fireplace and it is a delight to light a fire and relax to the sight, sound, smell and warmth of a fire on the hearth. Something about the sound, the crackling or the shifting of the wood as it burns that harkens back to all those fires I knew on camping trips as a kid. I hated camping, still do, but I loved the campfires. All the family around in a circle, popping corn on the fire or roasting marshmallows. I am not an aficionado of the properly browned marshmallow, toasted just right on all sides, a treat for the eyes as well as the tongue. No, I thrust the stick with the bright white marshmallow on the end directly into the fire, the hot orange hollows where the flames ebb and flow like liquid until I’m holding a torch which I turn to make certain there is no area unscathed. Then, I blow out the flame and use two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate to slide off the molten, ash-covered glob. Yum. We used to stay up until arrows of dawn’s light stretched across the sky, feeding the campfire more wood, telling stories, talking, laughing or just listening to the crackle and pop of the fire.

What I don’t understand is the popularity of non-wood fireplaces. Though the gas flames are hot, they are fake fires to me, plastic fire. The argument is always the same, no ashes to clean out, no wood to haul in, not having to get up and add more logs. To me the difference is the same as seeing a picture of a snow-covered mountain and being told this is just like being there. Not the same thing at all. One might as well just put a picture of a fire burning on the hearth on the wall and call it done. I don’t see the point of plastic fire.

So I clear the ashes, haul in the wood and get up from my comfortable spot on the sofa to add more logs to the fire. The cats are usually stretched out warm and supple in front of the fireplace. They twist slightly so their stomachs are available for rubbing once the fresh wood has been added to the glowing coals. Then it is back to the sofa, back to stories and conversation accompanied by the pops and crackling and the soft thud of half burned wood falling onto orange coals.