Fire good.
Beer. Good also.
Haha, yes! Easy to be happy, if by happy you mean stave off existential dread for a few hours.
Sounds like dad found enlightenment
I heard the crackling and popping when I read your comment
I felt it
Namaste 🙏
Some men just want to watch the fire burn.
There’s something about fire that moves humanity.
The crackle, the flicker, the scent of smoke and wood, the glowing warmth that caresses away chills. It’s hypnotic, and on such a primal level that we don’t always notice it.
Staring into a fire, just in the moment is meditative. Your mind can either roam free, or empty itself out to let you float in the now.
The wheel and lever people will never understand this.
But the people putting the wheel, lever, and fire together are really going places.
Screw those guys. They can take a long walk off a short inclined plane.
it’s been a safe place for a million+ years. Fire has your back.
It does?! PUT IT OUT YOU JERK!
Keeps the demons away
The true question is why didn’t Anon come and join his dad next to the fire.
Anon is also autistic. (Genetics are a bitch)
Anons dad needs to practice fire in the winter. It is even better in the winter because it can warm you up but the weather still keeps your beer cold.
I don’t see why autism would have anything to do with it. People have been sitting and staring at fires for thousands of years. It’s hypnotic, and it’s a good kind of meditative clear your mind kind of situation, or good time to just sit and think.
A man must ponder
But a pit ain’t no orb
Fire pit is pre-orb. Orb wishes it was fire pit.
Solution: get Dad an orb for those winter months.
He’s destressing
You have the deepest conversations around a fire. Everything from philosophy to art to politics, this is how man bonds with his brethren.
I hope Anon finds the same peace in his life that his fire pit has given his dad.
anon’s Dad is dropping shrooms
I’m leaving this thread with an urge to barbecue that I didn’t have upon entering
I need to poke a fire with a good stick.
It is pwetty 🥺
When I was a little kid, if I was good then my grandparents would fill a big pot with torn-up newspapers, set them on fire, and let me watch them burn. Apparently this isn’t a normal child-rearing practice. I’m not sure why.
