How Hard Can Fire Be? UFLI Foundations Lesson 128

Steve marched up from the sea, dripping wet and smiling from ear to ear. In his hand he held one big fat cod. 'Lunch, fresh from the sea!' he said. 'I am the best fisherman ever.' He lifted the cod up and gave it a sniff, but his smile dropped because the fish was cold, slimy, and very raw.

Steve set the cod down in the grass and stared at it, and the cod stared back. 'I am not eating you like that,' Steve told the fish firmly. 'You need to be hot, and you need to be crispy.' He rubbed his chin and thought hard. 'I need a fire,' he said. 'How hard can it be?'

Not hard at all, it turned out. Steve picked up an armful of logs, stacked them quickly in a pile, and struck a spark. Flames crackled to life, and thick smoke curled into the sky. 'See? I am the best fisherman and the best fire-maker too,' Steve said proudly. He set the cod neatly beside the flames and waited.

Steve crouched down to check on his fish. The fire popped and roared, and the heat blasted his face. He threw his arm up quickly to block the heat. 'That is very, very, very hot,' Steve said. He shuffled back just a tiny bit, but the best fire-maker does not run from his own fire.

Steve leaned in close and slowly pushed the cod right into the flames. 'Every side needs to touch the fire,' he said, as if someone were watching. 'That way the fish cooks the same all over.' He dusted off his hands and stood up tall. 'Trust me, I know exactly what I am doing.'

The cod sizzled and turned golden brown, and it smelled amazing. 'Done!' Steve shouted, grabbing the fish straight out of the fire with both hands. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. 'Hot, hot, hot, hot!' he yelled, hopping in circles and tossing the fish from hand to hand. Up on the hill, a sheep stopped chewing to watch.

The next morning, Steve found a chunk of raw chicken in the grass. His tummy growled, and his fingers, still pink from the hot fish, twitched. 'Right, this time I will be careful,' he said firmly. 'I will build a fire and cook the chicken slowly, and I will not grab it with my bare hands.' He grinned at his clever plan.

Steve looked around the grassy hill, and then he looked around again. There were no logs, no sticks, not even a tiny twig, just grass and trees too big to break. One odd little boat sat in the middle of the grass. 'I can't burn a boat,' Steve groaned sadly. 'Where is all the wood?'

Steve trudged to the top of a hill and slumped down. The sun was sinking, and his tummy grumbled so loudly that birds flew out of a tree. The raw chicken dangled sadly from his hand, cold and useless. 'I just want something hot to eat,' he whispered. 'Is that so much to ask?'

Then Steve looked down at the ground. Right there, bubbling and hissing at his feet, was a pool of glowing, bright orange lava. Steve gasped in amazement, and his eyes lit up like the lava itself. 'Hot, hot, very hot, the hottest of all!' he shouted. 'No need for any wood!'

Steve found one long stick. Just one! He stuck the raw chicken on the very end and held it over the bubbling lava, nice and steady. The heat rippled up around it. 'Slow and careful,' Steve said, smiling. 'This time I have learned my lesson, and I know exactly what I am doing.'

Then Steve threw the whole chicken straight into the lava. There was a tiny sizzle, a puff of smoke, and then nothing. The chicken was gone, swallowed up, not even a drumstick left. Steve stared at his empty hands, and his stick was on fire. 'Maybe,' he said softly, 'I do not know exactly what I am doing after all.'