“Where’s there smoke, there’s fire.” That’s bullshit. Thus far, my tenacious sawing in my apartment has brought me smoke, and a pleasant campfire and s’mores aroma that makes it quite the pleasure to come inside. But not all the time. Sometimes all I get is a high-pitched “ee-ee, ee-ee” sound that I’m sure is driving my downstairs neighbors crazy. They didn’t appreciate my occasional hammering with my rabbit stick when I was working on my fishing spear (pictures to come), and I’m guessing are even less pleased with the squeaking. Assuming they can hear it, I’m not going to guess what they think I’m doing up here. I wish.
A couple of friends said, “You’re trying to start a fire? In your apartment?!” Yeah. It took me two weeks to learn how to get smoke. It still doesn’t even always work. Even Jeremiah Johnson (my pseudonym for my teacher) looked awfully nervous performing his demo and when he finally did, miraculously, create with slow care a boisterous fire it was only after considerable time and many steps. Me, I just want to get an actual flame and so far, it ain’t happening. My drill kit looks cool though, and I made it myself. (pictures coming)