A neighborhood bulletin had advertised a "twilight campfire" meant to bring "neighbors, friends, and families" together, right along a (somewhat restored) section of the LA River. It promised roasted marshmallows and nature talks. It sounded like something that a) I would never expect from LA and b) would allow me to reminisce about past summers around the fire--while eating s'mores no less. (And I'm sure we all can agree that s'mores are just plain Awesome)
What should have been interpreted between the lines of that bulletin post, I suppose, was that this was a family activity--namely, for children. You may have figured that out already; we didn't until we walked in, blanket and marshmallows in hand, to this scene:
Whoops.
So, after a brief stroll along the LA River bike path (it exists, and it's actually quite pleasant), we committed to a campfire night. I had been promised s'mores and marshmallows, and once such an idea enters the brain, it's hard to get rid of it.
Perhaps our house perched above the main drag of Echo Park was not as picturesque and verdant as the original plan, but the s'mores were delicious--and we even had to test our urban survival skills with fire-building (success). And at this fire, we could drink wine, talk loudly, and we didn't have to dance with small children and a man in a ranger uniform to fit in.
Maybe it wasn't the roaring campfires of childhood, but my hair does have that woody-ashy-smokey smell this morning as I head off to work (you're welcome, bar patrons). Awesome.
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