Editor’s Note: As part of our year-long celebration of our 100th Year Anniversary (1922-2022), we’ll post a Throwback Thursday edition of our Alleghany Rattler Newspaper to give you a peek into life at camp across those 100 summers!
In this 1962 piece a Sara Rardin reflects on the spirit of the night and a good campfire.
The Spell of the Fire
As the velvety green limbs of the circling pines whispered softly with the soft breezes floating off the mountainside, an orchestra of chirping crickets and rasping locusts began tuning up for the evening’s performance. Within the circle of trees a tiny spark was touched to the heart of the criss-crossed logs, and shortly burst forth in thin fingers of orange and gold, casting a glow over the surrounding faces. Flames threw their jagged points gracefully into the twilight, occasionally punctuating it with showers of sparks like a sudden, upward rush of twinkling, golden stars. Thin wisps of woodsmoke lazily curled toward the sky of deepening lavender, mingling the pungent perfume of the logs with the spiciness of the pine boughs. Then the flames would die, leaving only the throbbing glow of crimson embers.
From spark to flame to ember, there was always a glow about the fire, and always this glow, united with the refreshing beauty of the campsite, seemed to kindle a similar radiance in the hearts fo those around — one of love, inspiration, gratitude, and peace.
— Sara Rardin
