I grew up in NY in the 1970s (as I’m fond of relating) and I can tell you that the only “bonfires” we experienced were the fiery flames of the 5-Story tenement buildings that flanked the brick, monolithic, 21-story structures of the housing projects in which my family Lived. Those rat and roach-infested tinderboxes (the tenements, not the pjs) went up in a conflagration of bright orange every week, it seemed, until eventually nothing remained but a row of abandoned, charred and blackened environmental health hazards. Those of us who lived in the Projects (mostly Black) would wonder if those of them who had lived in those tenements (mostly Puerto Rican) would be alright, as squadrons of fire trucks would roll in, sirens blaring and whining the call of destruction.

Fast forward two score and three years to earlier this month when I sprang a surprise Birthday Camping Experience on my 11-yr-old Junie. Complete with RV, fire pit and s’mores fixin’s. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? You betcha. So, in that same spirit, I even slept in the camper five out of the seven days we had it. We’re living on 3 acres of wooded farmland … Continue reading..