Each year for the past fifteen years or so, just after Christmas usually, I do something that has almost become a ritual around here. I light the bonfire and we all watch the collection of detritus from the last year go up in flame and smoke. I usually wait until just about sundown (not too late at that time of year) and whoever is around gathers, coffee (or other) cups in hand. Whatever flammable materials that can't be recycled have found their way on to the pile, beginning usually just after the ashes from the previous fire have cooled. Tree branches, lumber beyond redemption, firewood past it's prime, whatever, is piled together in a heap in a spot by the garden. Some years the pile has been twelve feet high and ten feet across at the base, it's wonderful how it grows over the seasons, even when you don't consciously think about it.
The nieces and nephews and other children have grown up with the bonfire. The pile is right next to the sliding hill, and when they were younger they would slide by the light of the fire, and now their children are doing the same thing.
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