A beary, beary bon bonfire

Since moving here in July, we've cut lots of limbs from trees in our forest, so we had materials aplenty for the Christmas bonfire, scheduled this year for the Lovestead. The new family tradition began last year when the Tibbs family had a heap big pile of slash to burn. So, why not do it Christmas night and get the troops outside after their Christmas feast!

A Christmas bonfire, we learned, provides the ideal antidote to the impending stupor that sets in after a day of lounging, grazing, gobbling and lounging. Of course, Christmas Day in our family traditionally follows a night of too little sleep, so the tendency to start nodding off fifteen minutes after leaving the dining room table has caught more than one family member with droopy-lid syndrome over the years.

Last year's inaugural blaze in the woods south of the Tibbs home spelled doom for anyone tempted to take that after-dinner nap. After all, when you're out in that cool December air with crackling sparks flying in unpredictable patterns toward the night sky and finely-molded snowballs zooming at lightning speeds directly your way, you'd better take note.

That was once again the case last night, after Bill and Annie spent the afternoon preparing a new site down the fenceline from the spot where I'd been piling my brush all fall and early winter. Seems with the new Lovestead, we didn't exactly know the drainage routes, and since the liquid has been descending, we now know where bonfires might not burn. My chosen spot happens to be surrounded by a frozen moat. Bill reasoned that any growing blaze would surely thaw the moat and dampen the spirits and toes of revelers wishing to take in warmth while plotting their next snowball assault.

So, Bill and Annie transported brush to a different, dryer area. The plan was sound, for the heavy snow build-up on each limb diminished with its transport. It just makes sense that a fresh pile, unladen with weeks of snow deposit, is much more willing to ignite. So, after a few minutes of visiting and looking at a dining room table filled with old family photos, 16 of us bundled up and either walked or rode 4-wheelers to Bonfire 2006.

Four generations of noisy family members, many accompanied by their personal pooches, gathered around the fire, including my mother who enjoyed reigning as Queen Mum in a fold-up camp chair. Of course, some of us who were more generous with our snowball giving than with our receiving, stuck really close to Mother Tibbs. After all, any decent family member looking to hurl a deadly sphere of white stuff at another family member knows full well the wrath that could incur should said mass happen to hit the Matriarch.

Those of us wusses may not have suffered any direct hits from our attackers, but the insults regarding our cowardly ways hit hard. Occasionally, we would have the decency to step aside from Queen Mum's chair and provide the enemy with an open target. In my case, an ample rear provided a fortuitous bullseye. Some hurlers even hit rear-on as I helped Annie and the triplets construct a snow fort.

Triplets were fair game for the attackers too. At one time during the evening of smores and more than enough attempts at Christmas carols, a bear even invaded their fort. This one had two legs, glasses and a deep roar, well-honed from a lifetime of scaring little kids in wooded areas. Kevin may have been a novice back in the 1950s when he hid behind bushes in the deep woods to frighten the bejeebers out of his younger sister, but he learned fast and polished his technique over the years.

Last night Mr. Bear even received a chorus of requests from Jacob, Justine and Grace to come attack them in their fort. They rather relished feigning fear in the safety of family members and probably knowing that the real Mr. Bear was sound asleep for the winter. Mr. Bear, along with his Bear Necessity assistant, Miss Annie, inflicted proper attacks on the youngsters, growling, snatching them and hauling them around the fire as they shrieked with fake fear.

After a couple of hours, the fire burned to ground level, so we loaded up and headed back to the warm house, where wet clothes were discarded and thrown in the dryer. Desserts waited on the island where one group gathered for more visiting. Another congregated in the living room as Jacob requested that Batman appear one more time on the TV. Jacob's a Batman regular, so the fact that he quickly nodded off into his Christmas night stupor didn't matter. He could watch his action hero again tomorrow after dreaming of a night of scary bears.

The second annual family bonfire proved to be a rousing success. We've got 365 more days to perfect our ways and find the ideal spot for Bonfire 2007. Mr. Bear will keep working on that growl while Jacob, Justine and Grace will gain just a little more skepticism as 5-year-olds about what's big and tall and lets out scary roars in the woods. In the meantime, we'll all cherish the moments of family togetherness that climaxed Christmas 2006.

A beary bon bonfire, indeed.