From the flicker of a candle’s flame in a backpacker’s folding lantern to the freight train roar of a conflagration racing down a mountain, I have seen some fires. Each evokes an emotion. I have felt adrenalin fueled terror and hypnotically induced sleep, hellish heat and embracing warmth. Fire is an adventure.

Last week, we had the church youth group over for a bonfire. That was the activity, what they wanted to do, a bonfire. It made me wonder why. What intrigues us about fire?

Bonfire is defined as a large outdoor fire for the purpose of burning garbage, or as part of a celebration, or a signal. We did not use ours for burning garbage, although Princess the Younger took the occasion to burn all of her math papers from last semester. I guess that falls more into celebration than garbage burning. In the course of celebrating, she managed to throw her “Student of the Month” certificate onto the flames. Fire is indiscriminate in its destruction or its ability to give comfort. It is just fire.

We had two fires going that night. One was the bonfire contained in a brick fire ring, roaring and reaching high into the night sky. The other was much smaller, contained in a metal fire ring on the brick patio. I watched both carefully for safety, and out of curiosity. I wanted to see who went to which.

The larger fire had its adherents, mostly male, mostly wanting to jump through the flames. Boys ... what are you going do? Girls stood back and watched, making no comment about the silliness of boys. I wondered as to their silence at such a blatant show of machismo. Humankind had its beginnings in a tribal society where the strongest of the males were first choice as mates, possibly judged by who could jump through the fire best. The boys and girls were unwittingly playing out an instinct a thousand-years-old. Fire evokes a primal stirring in all of us.

The smaller fire drew the largest group. I wondered if it felt safer, or if people gathered there because of the food that was to be cooked over it. As the evening progressed, all held sticks impaling hot dogs, and later, marshmallows to be used in another ancient fire tradition, the making of S’mores. No one jumped over this one. The bonfire was neglected and burned down to ashes. The smaller fire, the campfire, was nourished and fretted over for the duration of the activity. Afterward, it found the Admiral and me standing around it gathering the last of its waning warmth.

I am amazed at the comfort a campfire gives. Even on the hottest of summer nights, when warmth is not needed, we start a fire. In our primal brains, we see it drive back the relentless dark and keep imagined, or real, evils at bay. When we leave the circle of the fire, we are ever anxious to return to its embrace.

The Admiral told me how much she appreciated my safety precautions. I had shovels, buckets and a water charged hose, all within reach. I worried if that would be enough should the fire decide to leap its restraints and bound to the trees nearby. She has not seen how fast fire can move when out of control. I had. I do not recall ever being as frightened as when hurricane winds rushed by me toward the advancing fire, sucking all the oxygen out of the air to feed itself, killing everything in its path.

Fire evokes emotion. Whether it is warmth and comfort of a flickering flame, or the terror of an out of control blaze, we cannot escape its charm and potential. We have learned to harness its energy and use it everyday in so many ways. It is our friend, bringing comfort while at the same time, our enemy, containing the potential for mass destruction. A tool and a weapon all in the strike of a match, such gives one pause.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: www.starchasers.us.