It was dinner out last night - out in our back field kneeling around our field stone enclosed campfire with our two wiener dogs -Sam Houston and KirbyMagnolia - running circles in the field and through the buckwheat patch, a bag of local Vollworth's hot dogs, a bag of buns, a bag of eager-to-be-eaten ( I know things about marshmallows) marshmallows and a full, U.P. moon on the rise. I'd been waiting for this night all summer long. It was perfect - just like those marshmallows I'd carefully, quietly and with steady perseverance and diligence, roasted to gooey perfection! I ate five of those gooey blocks of what David calls compressed cotton candy.I've had many - maybe hundreds - of roasted marshmallows
in my lifetime -they're one of my favorite things - and their taste last night brought back a package of memories from the summer of 1990, when Caleb, Abby, Michaela and I gathered around the Johnston family campfire on the shores of Lake Chandos, Ontario, roasted hot dogs and buns on a stick, along with those ubiquitous blocks of compressed cotton candy by the full light of an Ontario moon on the rise.
