Last night in our son's kitchen my wife and I eased back in the rickety chairs and commenced to party, passing around the boxes of take-out Chinese food, filling our mugs to brimming with steaming hot tea, (feeding the dog under the table), and laughing till we cried over our young granddaughter's new words of the day. This family of ours had only just moved into an old house in need of loving care, and we'd barely had time to fix that and paint this before the movers arrived. With boxes shoved aside and counters uncovered the kitchen was chosen as the natural place to christen the tired old house a new happy home. We spent the better part of that long night baking a pie, uncorking some bubbly, and steeping the tea. And oh yes, we sang. Of course the youngest voice had to teach us her favourite tunes from daycare.
I'm not from Newfoundland/Labrador, nor have I ever been there, much to my regret, but over the years somehow and for who knows what reason, we've gravitated to the kitchen for our socializing. There have been woodstoves, gas ranges, and electric air-fryinduction bakeconvectionselfcleancontraptions in the heart of each kitchen, but we know the real heart of every kitchen is the group settled around the table eating, singing, sharing. On more than on occasion during power failures we've slapped together sandwiches and warmed our faces in the glow of candlelight and lamps. The light drew us in.
Campfires have been no different over the years. We'll continue to enjoy them as part of our backcountry kitchen party as long as we're able. Fire bans (all issued for very good reason, and always respected) have dampened our spirits somewhat at times, but we have sung ourselves silly huddled around flashlights, continuing the kitchen party culture. You had to be there.