My fire pit is under attack. A few people have decided that fire pits are contributing to air pollution and must be banned. These are the same people who robbed my children of that fall right of passage, the leaf fire. I can still close my eyes and recall with perfect clarity, the chill on my cheeks and the sweet smell of burning maple leaves as I coasted down roads on my Schwinn in October. Oh sweet, sweet days! Grandpa would strike a match and we would scramble to find the buckeyes we'd gathered. Tossing them into the fire and waiting for the pop and the burst of sparks. Marshmallows on sticks. Glowing embers.
 
Now, we bag or mulch our leaves and settle for the firepit in the backyard, filled with kiln dried wood from the nearest gas station. It's the only thing we are allowed to burn since it doesn't make as much smoke as regular firewood. But we love the fire pit, especially when we start the fires with our old evergreen boughs. They crackle and snap. and the fire roars to life. We don't head indoors until the wood is black, just speckled with glowing red, not very hot embers. Some afternoons, when the air is still chilly and we are working outside, we build a fire to warm our backsides and cook our hot dog lunch.
 
Now the activists want take our firepits too. I say you can have it when everyone gives up their fireplace indoors. You know the ones, belching out smoke from green wood and paper logs filled with chemicals. You say fireplace; I say firepit. To me, they are one and the same."

—Deb Terrill