One Match

I tell her she’s cheating
Looking down my nose as she stuffs wads of paper under green kindling.
If you do it right,
You should be able to start it with one match.
Even if the wood is damp.

You always start with birch bark
White birch.
It’s nature’s paper.
Thin, oily, and flammable.
Above it, a tangle of the thinnest dry twigs.
Dead pine branches do nicely.
You’ve got to have something for that birch bark to ignite.
You’ve only got a few seconds to catch it
Before it burns out.
You should only need to use one match.

She thinks I’m being ridiculous.
We have no birch trees on our quarter acre,
And the fire pit is 20 feet from the house.
I tell her it’s not the practicality of the matter.
It’s the principle.

Around the twigs, a structure of sticks
And logs.
You can go with the triangular base tee-pee
But I prefer a four-sided log cabin.
You just have to leave room for the air to flow in on the bottom
And a hole to reach in with the match.
The flame starts small
Until you blow from the bottom.
Just don’t blow it out.
With the twigs now roaring,
The dome of sticks above them follow suit.
Then the big stuff.
Now you’ve got a camp fire.
Keep feeding it.
Don’t worry about the marshmallows ‘til you’re almost done.

Her sticks are thrown in haphazardly on the paper.
It sickens me to watch.
She reaches in with a butane lighter.
Huge flames in seconds.
No matches.
I tell her she’s cheating.
We always lit ours with one match,
No paper.
And when that didn’t work,
We lit it with two matches.
And one can of bug spray.