Woodsmoke

I remember last summer, moving our stuff in. Meeting with Cindy. I had a package of s'mores sticks. I remember showing it to her, and in that moment feeling silly that I purchased marshmallow roasting sticks when I was about to be living IN THE WOODS. I had a good laugh over that. But seeing how we came from a field, we never had dropped sticks to pick from to roast marshmallows, unless we wanted to cut healthy branches off our little trees.

I promised the kids we'd roast marshmallows in this house. Weeks turned to months. Mild temperatures lingered, but now entering a nice little cold snap it seemed a great day to start a fire. So we started two (one in the school room, one in the living room).

I pulled out the sticks.

Got the bag of marshmallows out and loaded them on.

Loved the feel of the heat. Loved sitting next to my kids who were THRILLED to be roasting a marshmallow. Loved that Shane jumped in on the action and roasted his own. And can I say, they were delicious! Nothing like a roasted marshmallow.

When I walked into the school room, it felt warm. But best of all, it smelled like woodsmoke. And I felt joy.