Smores

Cool, rainy (40-ish)

Evenings in Slanty are settling into a pattern. I putter around, talk to Marc, set up the space heater in the bathroom, check the shower for those bizarre green spiders, and then hop in to get clean. Showered, I start dinner, build a fire, work on little projects, and eat. I’ve been making little Douglas-fir sachets, and knitting Marc’s hat. It’s pretty clichéd, making sachets and knitting. Huh. Then I do some yoga, write (as in now), do dishes, floss and brush, call Marc, and go to bed. It’s that simple.

During the past few days I’ve been switching it up a little, and making Smores to keep myself in the camp spirit. They haven’t been too authentic; I don’t really care for graham crackers, so I’ve left them out, and I’m now just toasting the marshmallow, with the piece of chocolate wedged inside to make it nice and melty. This little combination tastes great, and is fun, except that I’ve been toasting the stupid things on a butter knife. Yes, a butter knife. I don’t have a roasting stick, and when night rolls around the last thing I want to do is walk outside into the darkness, under the pouring rain, to find a pretty roasting stick.

I’ve thus confirmed a nasty suspicion that roasting sticks were created for a reason: The end of a butter knife is too close to the fire.

Roasting sticks aside… I originally got the chocolate and marshmallows thinking it might be fun to have people over for Smores. That might still be true. And I have the feeling I do a lot of things for reasons like that: Maybe that will impress someone someday. Or maybe that will be fun for someone someday. And so, when I pulled out the Smore-makin’s two nights ago, it felt weird. Making Smores by yourself feels like watching a movie by yourself, or eating by yourself at a restaurant: Smores are a social food. When you make a Smore by yourself, it’s simultaneously bewildering and liberating. It’s bewildering because you realize you’re alone for another night in the woods, and in all likelihood, you’re never going to have people over for Smores. It’s liberating because you realize you’re alone for another night in the woods, and you can have this Smore moment all to yourself.