This is the continuation of this.
I made the fire on the third and final night. I had made one the night before, but it was nothing compared to this one, so I’m leaving it out. I pulled out my hatchet and began splitting the wood–first into large pieces and then some smaller ones for kindling. I then began striking with smooth, glancing blows causing fine, curled wood shavings to separate from the log, cleaved free effortlessly by the sharp blade.
I walked around the camp site gathering dry grass which I fashioned into a bird’s nest looking thing. I carefully laid the nest in the center of the fire pit and filled it with the shavings. I then build a small fortress around it, starting with the big logs and gradually getting smaller.
When I was done, I stepped back and admired my creation for a few moments before lighting a single match and tossing it right into the heart of the fortress. A little flame rose cautiously, shy at first, but rapidly growing until the entire structure was ablaze creating heat so intense I had to move my chair back.
I sat gazing into the flames sipping my beer and feeling totally one with my primordial instincts. Had someone addressed me during that moment, I may have responded: “Me Andrew! Me make fire!”