The Careful Campfire

Ruslan and his dad went to spend the night by a lake. They pitched a green tent in a clearing right by the water, blew up their mattresses and watched for a long time as the sun sank behind the far shore. The lake turned pink, then gold, then silver.

In the evening Dad said, "Let's build a campfire, and I'll show you three rules."

"Three whole rules?" Ruslan was surprised. "I thought a campfire was just matches and wood."

"A campfire is fire," Dad answered. "And fire is a good friend only when someone looks after it."

The first rule was about the place. You build a fire on bare earth or in an old fire pit, well away from grass, bushes and low branches. Dad and Ruslan found an old fire pit, cleared the dry grass and pine cones from around it and made a ring of stones.

The second rule was about water. A bucket of water or a pile of sand must always stand right beside the fire. Ruslan ran down to the lake himself and brought back a full bucket. The water sloshed and chilled his fingers.

"And the third?" asked Ruslan.

"I'll tell you the third before bed," Dad smiled.

The fire crackled into life. It snapped and popped, and sparks flew up into the sky like fireflies. It smelled of smoke and pine. Dad buried potatoes in the embers, and soon they were baked, hot, with crispy black skins. Ruslan tossed his from hand to hand and blew on his fingers.

Suddenly one spark jumped sideways and landed on a dry blade of grass beyond the stones. The grass began to smoke, and a tiny orange dot appeared on it. Ruslan didn't panic. He scooped a mug of water from the bucket and splashed it. Pssshh! The dot went out.

"That's why the bucket is always close by," Dad said seriously. "Well done. You did the right thing, and fast."

Ruslan felt very grown up. All evening he watched over the fire, adding twigs and making sure no sparks flew beyond the stones.

When the stars came out, Dad said, "And now the third rule. When you leave, you never let a fire smoulder. Even if it looks like it's gone out. You pour water on it and stir the ashes with a stick until they are cold."

They emptied the whole bucket over the coals. The coals hissed, and white steam rose up. Ruslan took a stick and stirred the ashes, and Dad fetched more water from the lake and poured it on again. Ruslan held his palm above the ashes, and at last he touched the ground. It was wet and cool.

"It's cold!" said Ruslan.

They climbed into the tent. Outside the lake lapped softly, somewhere a night bird called, and Ruslan fell asleep in no time.

In the morning there was just a small wet black patch inside the ring of stones where the fire had been. The forest around them stood whole and green, the birds were singing, and mist rose over the lake.

"One fire left burning, and a whole forest can be gone," said Dad. "And you did everything right."

The next evening, back home, Ruslan lay in his own bed remembering the crackle of the fire, the firefly sparks and the hot potatoes. He felt warm and calm, because he knew the three rules of the campfire.

Goodnight.