Chantel Rolph

FIRE AS MY SAVIOUR

There was window art, chalked pavements, bake-a-thons and novice gardening alongside water play, garden camping, expressive painting and  goodness knows what else as we threw ourselves with gusto into 'making the most' of the situation.  

The situation being that during the pandemic, as two self-employed parents of three young children, we were scared. 

We really didn't know what to believe, what to think or what would become of us.  So we didn't think.  We turned off the news, sacked off school and while our enthusiasm for endless activities waned over time, what remained constant for us was our freedom - the freedom to enjoy each other without external pressure and to be absolutely present.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt calm.  And I drew breath.  And it really did feel good.  

It was in this 'extended camping' mode that the back garden campfire began.  

Beginning at first as a means for a sweet treat, a 'carrot-dangler' for the kids but honestly, over time it became so much more.  Talk of the fire began earlier and earlier each day, alongside the sorting of kindling, stick piling, wood chopping and food sourcing.  It became a ritual in which we were all fully absorbed - each with our own roles but shared basic expectations of food, family and fire.  

During this time it was selfishly easy to forget the chaos and fear of the world outside and to lose ourselves in our own privilege.  But we did.  I didn't expect to, but that is what happened.  We turned our backs on the outside and looked towards each other.  

And in our flame-fuelled hibernation, a mixture of wild excitement, chatter, silence, stories, experiments and music meant that each time the fire was lit was different, but for me the outcome was always the same:  a sense of peace and stillness that I never wanted to end.   

But of course it did.  And the 'return to normal' has come at a great cost and I'm only now beginning to realise that.  Emerging from the bottom of the garden like Stig-of-the-Dump means that my romanticized vision of our cosy crew has given way to the cramming in of 'jobs' once again and it's a little uncomfortable for me to admit that I have a real yearning for the simplicity of last year.  A privilege to say, I know, but I really, really do.