Hearth Fires
In ages past, primitive man huddled by a fire at night. He did it to keep away the cold, to have protection from some wild animals and a place to cook others, and because it was a source of light in the darkness. The fire was a reminder and reassurance of the future day, something to carry him forward with courage. When work or travel must pause until daybreak, the fire was also entertainment and relaxation. Staring into the flames gave him time and focus to reflect or imagine.
Naturally, he would gather his family there, and that would expand the activity to a community. The very earliest communities were families. Like a wolf pack, a tribe would be composed of siblings and their children, branching out into an extended family. Generations and occasional additions from other tribes might increase the genetic distance between members, but a tribe is a family nonetheless. And gathering the family around the fire was a major part of early man's social life. For a good long time, we kept this primitive habit. We built houses with fireplaces, and families would gather at the hearth in the evenings. The hearth was the centre of a home, a place for cooking and a source of light and warmth. Hearth time was time for news, for stories and songs, time to tell the tales of family history or pass on skills from one generation to the next. Most importantly, it gave an extended family a time and place to bond.
Now, there are many other attractive entertainments to scatter us. We separate and drift. The American independent streak tends to hasten the process, making smaller family units more popular. The traditional extended family rarely exists in a household or community anymore. Still, we reach for those connections with our nostalgic appreciation for the family dinner or like events, even as it becomes a rarity in our busy world. This is a hearth fire, too, in a way. We gather to share food, stories, or companionship with others of our kind. It reaffirms a sense of belonging. It recharges the spirit. It creates awareness of a shared history and of the individual's part in a shared future.
Busy lives and the drifting of families means that this sort of bonding happens less and less. Ties between us stretch further. Some people may see their relatives only in stiff, obligatory functions or feel no real connections. Others may deliberately isolate themselves from family. Few of us have that daily hearth fire that draws us together, but for the lucky ones, there are still opportunities for tribal moments.
Fire isn't necessary to have an atmosphere of family unity, but as it happens, both my family and my husband's have developed hearth fire traditions that actually include a fire. The annual trek to an aunt's farm has been part of my husband's family tradition for many years. Multiple generations of aunts and uncles, brothers, sisters and cousins come to spend the weekend together. Some stay in nearby hotels, while others camp on the property. All of them mix at the farm, though, catching up on family news, retelling old stories, singing songs, eating, drinking, and playing games. The festivities reach their peak each night as the family enjoys a bonfire, with some members staying at the circle to the early morning hours.
On my side of the family, it's an annual group camping trip. My sisters and I had fond memories of family get-togethers where a riot of cousins ran wild, and any one of a dozen aunts or uncles might tell you to settle down. My dad had plenty of siblings, so there were lots of kids ready to play while the grown ups talked, reminisced, and generally enjoyed the occasion. There were arguments or fights sometimes (usually relative to the amount of alcohol involved, where the adults were concerned,) but we always came together again at the next holiday, or birthday, or funeral, or whatever. If toes don't get stepped on every now and then, you're just not dancing close enough. Seeing the family scatter as we grew, we started this camping event to recreate some of those bonding opportunities we remembered from childhood. So now, we get together with our new families and whichever cousins, aunts, uncles and others who live close enough, and we spend a weekend in the woods. The kids play. The adults catch up. We all trade stories, jokes, camping tips or songs. We all share the work of maintaining a camp, cook and eat together. We even suffer together when the weather turns sour. I imagine this is all as primitive man had done, with less talk about favourite movies and video games, of course. And the fire is the centre of the community for the weekend. The fire is the hearth and the home.
I think that all of this has made the regular attendees that much closer. It revitalizes the sense of community and provides opportunities to pass knowledge down tot he next generation. None of it would work as well if they were formal reunion parties, either. It's hard for people to bond when they're insulated by party manners. The informal atmosphere encourages people to get to know each other. Living together for a while and gathering as we do at our fires keys into that ancient practice, and we are once again, a tribe.
Your tribe doesn't have to be blood, either. As I've written before, families are what you make them. Both my husband's family celebration and mine include many who mean a great deal to us who may not be "ours" on paper. So gather your family and kindle your fire. The hearth fire is only lost to us if we don't take the time to slow down and just be part of the tribe.
Naturally, he would gather his family there, and that would expand the activity to a community. The very earliest communities were families. Like a wolf pack, a tribe would be composed of siblings and their children, branching out into an extended family. Generations and occasional additions from other tribes might increase the genetic distance between members, but a tribe is a family nonetheless. And gathering the family around the fire was a major part of early man's social life. For a good long time, we kept this primitive habit. We built houses with fireplaces, and families would gather at the hearth in the evenings. The hearth was the centre of a home, a place for cooking and a source of light and warmth. Hearth time was time for news, for stories and songs, time to tell the tales of family history or pass on skills from one generation to the next. Most importantly, it gave an extended family a time and place to bond.
Now, there are many other attractive entertainments to scatter us. We separate and drift. The American independent streak tends to hasten the process, making smaller family units more popular. The traditional extended family rarely exists in a household or community anymore. Still, we reach for those connections with our nostalgic appreciation for the family dinner or like events, even as it becomes a rarity in our busy world. This is a hearth fire, too, in a way. We gather to share food, stories, or companionship with others of our kind. It reaffirms a sense of belonging. It recharges the spirit. It creates awareness of a shared history and of the individual's part in a shared future.
Busy lives and the drifting of families means that this sort of bonding happens less and less. Ties between us stretch further. Some people may see their relatives only in stiff, obligatory functions or feel no real connections. Others may deliberately isolate themselves from family. Few of us have that daily hearth fire that draws us together, but for the lucky ones, there are still opportunities for tribal moments.
Fire isn't necessary to have an atmosphere of family unity, but as it happens, both my family and my husband's have developed hearth fire traditions that actually include a fire. The annual trek to an aunt's farm has been part of my husband's family tradition for many years. Multiple generations of aunts and uncles, brothers, sisters and cousins come to spend the weekend together. Some stay in nearby hotels, while others camp on the property. All of them mix at the farm, though, catching up on family news, retelling old stories, singing songs, eating, drinking, and playing games. The festivities reach their peak each night as the family enjoys a bonfire, with some members staying at the circle to the early morning hours.
On my side of the family, it's an annual group camping trip. My sisters and I had fond memories of family get-togethers where a riot of cousins ran wild, and any one of a dozen aunts or uncles might tell you to settle down. My dad had plenty of siblings, so there were lots of kids ready to play while the grown ups talked, reminisced, and generally enjoyed the occasion. There were arguments or fights sometimes (usually relative to the amount of alcohol involved, where the adults were concerned,) but we always came together again at the next holiday, or birthday, or funeral, or whatever. If toes don't get stepped on every now and then, you're just not dancing close enough. Seeing the family scatter as we grew, we started this camping event to recreate some of those bonding opportunities we remembered from childhood. So now, we get together with our new families and whichever cousins, aunts, uncles and others who live close enough, and we spend a weekend in the woods. The kids play. The adults catch up. We all trade stories, jokes, camping tips or songs. We all share the work of maintaining a camp, cook and eat together. We even suffer together when the weather turns sour. I imagine this is all as primitive man had done, with less talk about favourite movies and video games, of course. And the fire is the centre of the community for the weekend. The fire is the hearth and the home.
I think that all of this has made the regular attendees that much closer. It revitalizes the sense of community and provides opportunities to pass knowledge down tot he next generation. None of it would work as well if they were formal reunion parties, either. It's hard for people to bond when they're insulated by party manners. The informal atmosphere encourages people to get to know each other. Living together for a while and gathering as we do at our fires keys into that ancient practice, and we are once again, a tribe.
Your tribe doesn't have to be blood, either. As I've written before, families are what you make them. Both my husband's family celebration and mine include many who mean a great deal to us who may not be "ours" on paper. So gather your family and kindle your fire. The hearth fire is only lost to us if we don't take the time to slow down and just be part of the tribe.
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