Bonfire Stories

Bonfire Stories

The last of August air whispers of mountains or hills. It reminds me of the crisp air I woke up to once in Tuscany. The sun welcomes you there, but in the hills you have to grab a sweatshirt on August mornings in order not to shiver. I remember wanting to wait until the sun infused the air with its shine before venturing out of my bunk, but at that time I worked at a camp and had to get myself moving before waking the campers.

And wake the kids we did, my fellow counselor Marco and I. It was always the same: Marco strummed his guitar while I punctured the morning with my soprano version of "Good Morning".

The boys groaned. It could have been the repetition of the same verse over and over, or just because it was too early to be serenaded. Some kids tapped their feet on their wooden bunks but there were always those covering their heads with their sleeping bags. We knew it was the most annoying way of waking them up, and that made it all the more amusing!

It became our tradition. One morning, I didn't feel so hot and missed the campers' wake-up call. A couple of boys saw me later and asked: "Hey! Where was our wake-up song this morning?" And I realized how much they actually liked this tradition even though they would never admit it. 

Marco was extremely good at capturing children's attention in a "wholesome" way. He wove stories through the embers that escaped the night fire, diving into the flames with his words. And everyone followed him, on the edge of their logs. I waited attentive for his nod which meant it was my moment. Then, I would continue the story, trying to be as entertaining as he was. And the kids would follow me, too.

Every night the story would end with: "But that's a story for another day." The campers would moan: "Ohhhh! But what happened next?" to which Marco would respond: "You'll find out tomorrow." And they would trudge to bed.

Marco worked magic with those kids. It hung in the halo of the fire and probably in their dreams. And I was just as entranced as they were, the pirates and stormy seas swimming through my slumber.

Photo: Adonyi Gábor: https://www.pexels.com/photo/red-and-orange-fire-1558916/

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi