Boys will be boys, especially on our farm

Stones and sticks and fire-starting flints, that’s what my boys are made of…at least on some days.

These warm March days have brought all types of newness to the farm.  Animal babies, flower-filled greenhouses, freshly plowed and planted fields and…campfires.  Yes, campfires.  My boys love to build campfires!

The other day our youngest asked if he could build a fire.  We usually do this in our backyard fire pit with the supervision of myself, my husband or our older son who is a Webelos Scout with fire-building credentials 🙂  Of course, I’m always peeking out the kitchen window to be sure those credentials are legitimate and that everyone is safe.

But the commercialized, metal fire pit was growing old…read “boring” to a couple of young boys.  So, the idea of building a REAL fire, in the driveway, came about one day.  I believe my husband is to be credited with this brain child and I have to say it turned out to be a great one.

The corner of the driveway may not sound like an ideal space to you.  To us, living on a working farm and not worrying too much about the status of our driveway, it seemed a safe and logical place for a little child-led adventure.  No trees in the way, no grass to catch fire and no animals to scare, unlesss of course, our barn cats decided to venture that way…which they didn’t.  But just building a fire didn’t prove to be enough of an adventure for our little rascals.

So…as I’m standing on the front porch, enjoying the sight of the kids’ small and well-controlled stick, stone, twig and straw-filled fire, built entirely by themselves mind you, I suddenly see one of them running to the chicken yard and the other one rummaging through the garage.  I am about to yell and tell them to tend their fire but I don’t need to .  The older one comes running back with a large aluminum can in his hands, proceeds to wash it out under the water pump and runs back to the fire.  The younger is gingerly walking, albeit at a fast pace, carrying what I soon realize to be an armful of fresh brown eggs, probably plucked right out from under the hens!   They have a plan.

The can is full of water.  It’s carefully placed in the fire.  The eggs go into the can of water.  They are cooking their own afternoon snack.  They’re beaming.  I’m beaming.  Love this moment.

But I’m also anticipating their needs, as all of us mothers do.  So I go to the kitchen and grab a pair of long-handled tongs and another container, one with cold water.

I go back outside and walk to their wonderland.  Their eyes are glued to the can, to the water, to the fire and to the eggs.  Mine are glued on them.  I’m so thankful for their sense of wonder.  I hope they always have this.

About 15 minutes later we’re removing the eggs and plopping them into the container of cold water.  They’ve acknowledged my presence and enlisted my help with cracking and peeling the eggs.  The first one is still a little runny inside.  It becomes Scout’s afternoon snack; he loves it.

Eggs go back into the can, back into the water, back into the fire for 5 more minutes.  “Eggs take longer on the open fire,” notes Ryder.  Lesson learned.

5 minutes over.  Eggs back out and plopped into the cold water container.  Mom gets to help again.  Crack. Peel.  Perfect.

I’ve never seen them eat eggs with such gusto.  Maybe I can get them to cook their own vegetables over the fire.  Maybe that will be another day.  For now, I’m savoring this one.

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On a side note, I’m reading a book called “Last Child in the Woods.”  It’s a great read and it will make you think about nature and children and a lot more too…I highly recommend it.

Enjoy this day 🙂