Editor’s Notes

I was intrigued to read in a letter written in 1952 when we lived on a boat in Sarasota:

…Bucher almost knocked us over dashing ashore to rub two twigs together to build a fire.

When I later related this discovery to my friend Ellen Campbell, she asked, “Did your mother mean that literally or figuratively?” Ellen had grasped immediately what it took me a whole day to realize.

I initially interpreted the description literally. I had heard that Boy Scouts learned to build fires in this way and had seen demonstrations on TV. But I marveled that my father had possessed this unusual skill. It seemed plausible, though not probable, and was definitely surprising. After a brief period of wonder, however, I put it out of my conscious mind and continued my work.

The unconscious apparently didn’t let go as quickly. Later that evening, long after I’d stopped working, it suddenly dawned on me that my father was a heavy smoker until the early 1970’s. In 1952, he always carried matches or a lighter and would have had no need to rub two twigs together. Mom clearly knew that Dad had a ready means of starting a fire. And anyone who knew Dad would realize that the colorful description in Mom’s letter was meant figuratively.