We have a spot in our backyard just for bonfires. In the summer there’s a canopy of leaves covering almost every square inch out there, but in the way back there’s one little area with a clearing above. Throughout the year the wind will bring down hundreds of branches from our dozens of trees, and then Julie will walk around with a wheelbarrow picking them all up and dumping them into a pile that grows bigger by the week on the bonfire spot.
The fires we have are massive, with flames reaching fifteen feet or higher, which is why we can’t be under the canopy. And every time we have a bonfire we immediately start building the next one. Usually we’ll do three or four per year to celebrate special days or just because.
There’s a healing power that comes from watching a fire dance and grow as it consumes the wood that fuels it. It’s beautiful and mesmerizing and therapeutic. As human beings we connect with flame on a primal level, and oftentimes the stresses and difficulties of daily life burn away as we sit and stare into it.
Julie and I have always loved new year’s eve fires because they emphatically mark the transition, but the problem is the weather doesn’t usually cooperate. In the days leading up to new year’s eve this year the forecast looked promising though. It was projected to be in the thirties, which is quite warm by Buffalo standards for the holiday season. It had been raining on and off since Christmas, so the bonfire wood had gotten a bit wet, but we still thought there was a chance we could get the fire going to celebrate the end of 2021 and the start of 2022.
The bonfire pile was also especially big. We’d had a few crazy windstorms during the prior months, which brought down not just a ton of small branches, but lots of big, thick ones too that you had to drag across the yard with all your might.
Jeremy came over mid-afternoon. He’s one of mine and Julie’s closest friends and we’d celebrated new year’s eve with him many times before. Way back when, Julie and I would throw crazy parties in our downtown loft to ring in the new year that would go until five in the morning and Jeremy was always there. Over time our parties got quieter by design, and our last one downtown was with just a few people. I remember we all wrote down lists of things we wanted to let go of in the coming year, and then we went up to the roof after midnight and burned the lists. We just used a lighter for this, but the small flame was still powerful nonetheless as our lists went up in smoke before our eyes. That was December 31st of 2008, the last new year’s eve before we moved out to Lewiston, and Jeremy was with us then as well.
Jeremy is a great, gentle man. He’s kind and generous and he loves our kids and they love him back. Des and Isa consider him their friend too. It’s that kind of warm and comfortable relationship, just like family. We all love each other for who we are and we’ve been through a lot together over the years.
After Isa went down we huddled up and decided once and for all that the bonfire was going to happen, and then at nine o’clock we headed outside with lawn chairs. The immense pile of branches was still a little damp but not too bad. I carefully made a separate stack of tiny twigs on the edge of the bonfire and then arranged them like a teepee around twisted pieces of newspaper. It took a while for the fire to catch, but I kept adding sticks and paper and also blew lengthy exhales on the heart of the flame every minute or two.
Twenty minutes later the fire was burning on its own and didn’t need my help anymore, but with the wet sticks the fire grew ever so slowly. It was dramatic and patient and much different than the summer fires that get to full height and intensity in five minutes and then burn down fast. The slow build of this one was awesome to behold.
Des, Jeremy, Julie and I sat around the fire talking. It was thirty five degrees out, chilly for sure, but we were bundled up and we all felt lucky to be outside all things considered. What a year 2021 had been. It was extraordinary but also tough. We were in lockdown for much of the first half and then after a more normal summer covid came storming back come fall. To be sitting around a fire with my wife and son and great friend was just what I needed.
Des made s’mores and as I watched him I noticed that I was feeling optimistic and somewhat cheerful, not just about the coming year but also the present moment right then and there. During the past few days I’d felt out of sorts and a bit depressed but now I was relaxed and looking forward to the future. I miss that feeling. I used to feel it all the time. Where did it go?
As the fire raged we threw on a small outdoor table that Fred had built for us many years before. It was rotting now and unusable. It was sad to watch it go up in flames knowing it had been built by someone we loved dearly. Fred passed two years ago and we all still missed him very much. The table also burned beautifully and I think Fred would’ve approved of us throwing it on the fire. He liked to run a tight ship and this table had seen its day. I like to think he was looking down on us and smiling.
New year’s eve is always a mix of emotions like that for me, both happy and sad. I fantasize about the coming year and its possibilities. But I’m also sorry to see the past year go as we put it officially behind us. Strangely this year I found myself less excited about the future than I normally am, but also less sad to move on from the year that just was.
Where has my excitement gone? Is it my age? Am I more jaded and pessimistic now from the continual body blows of adulthood? Perhaps I’m just tired from raising young kids? Or maybe burned out from covid?
I looked up at the huge naked oak trees in our yard towering above. Just sixty days ago they were full of leaves but were now all trunks and jagged branches, starkly set against the evening sky. The whole scene was stunning and felt somehow relevant to my feelings inside, but I didn’t think too much about it. I just felt connected to the trees and the sky and the winter season as I walked around the yard and took it in.
Surprisingly we stayed out past midnight. We had come outside right at nine and at the time I thought we’d last out there for an hour or so. But we were having fun and the time flew. We weren’t looking at our phones or the clock. Des didn’t ask for his screens either. Instead we chatted and played Mad Libs, a fireside tradition. We laughed hard together. It felt like old times. It was awesome.
We also set off the few fireworks that somehow still remained from the 4th of July. We lit several smaller ones to kick things off that sparkled purple and green as we stood way back, alternating between holding one another and jumping for joy. The finale, which we set off at the stroke of midnight, was a thick cylinder of a firework called the Silver Star. It shot up high a colorful spray of light and fire and crackles that kept going and going. All around the neighborhood you could hear other fireworks go boom right then too. We couldn’t see anyone else, but we all knew we were celebrating together.
Just before we went inside Des grabbed the last firework, which was shaped like a sword with “Excalibur” written on the length of the blade. I’d always bought a few every 4th of July and Des loved them. After it’s lit flames and sparks shoot from the tip. It looks like an action hero weapon.
This one felt so special though because Des is nine now and on the verge of becoming a young man. I don’t know how many more new year’s eves we’ll have like this with him being so content to hang with us the whole night long. I watched Des wield the flaming sword, drawing glowing lines in the dark air, and I consciously recognized the sweetness and specialness of the moment. Just writing this now makes me well up with beautiful sadness.
But that moment wasn’t sad. It was wonderful. The whole evening was, with the fire warming and nourishing us the entire time.
I brought an extra single mattress into Des’s room that night and slept on it on the floor, kind of like an indoor campout. It felt like a fitting way to end the year given all that we’d been through in 2021, always together, always a family.
Thank you to all of you reading this. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and my family. I love you all and I wish you the best in 2022 and beyond. Happy new year!