Tom Van Wyen is back with a new Harmony Project essay — his most personal in a while. Six months after his stroke, Tom’s walking has come back strong, but his left hand still has a long way to go, and he misses his guitar — especially playing it around a campfire, with Carolann and Georgie beside him. That got him thinking about campfire smoke: the thing we all scoot our chairs to escape in the moment becomes, by morning, the very smell we treasure. “Smoke Over Fire” asks what other cherished memories are hiding inside life’s little inconveniences. Here is Tom’s essay in full.

Smoke Over Fire

The memories hidden in life’s little inconveniences…

It’s been six months since my stroke. While my walking has rapidly improved, my left arm and hand still have a long way to go — it’s safe to say I won’t be playing my guitar for quite some time. I miss playing it — I especially miss playing my travel guitar while sitting around campfires with Carolann and Georgie.

There is something almost sacred about a campfire. They’re such a spiritual, peaceful, reflective experience. We simultaneously reflect on the trail we hiked that day, or the mountain creek we followed, the lyrical sounds of the birds we heard on our hike, our senses absorbing the sight and sounds of a babbling waterfall, even the mosquito bites bring back some happy moments.

While savoring those moments, it’s interesting that our thoughts often turn to the future — we converse about our hopes and dreams, our prayers for our children (and now grandchildren), our community, and our country. Those conversations are interrupted at times with a song I’ll strum on my guitar.

Another interruption is the slow, rhythmic dance we make to avoid the campfire smoke from getting in our eyes.

It’s one of life’s great mysteries. In the moment, we jostle our chairs to escape the smoke — yet hours later, as we get ready for sleep, that lingering smell of smoke is a warm companion in my sleeping bag, facilitating my ability to drift into sleep.

As I wake up the next morning, it is not the smoke I remember — it’s the smell of smoke lingering in my clothes. It’s the reminder of the evening spent under the stars, surrounded by the people and dogs we love. The very thing we tried to avoid becomes the thing we wish we could experience again.

I would love for a perfumer to create a cologne that smells exactly like campfire smoke; I’d be their first customer, and I’m certain there’d be a line of customers behind me.

Smoke over fire — what other cherished memories are hiding inside life’s little inconveniences?

Perhaps that is the great irony of life’s little inconveniences. In the moment, we wish them away. Yet years later, they become the very things we long to experience again.

I look forward to the day when my hiking boots are soaked from crossing a mountain stream, when my socks are damp from an unexpected rain shower, and when I feel the sting of a blister forming on my heel after a long day of sauntering through the mountains with Carolann.

I look forward to the day when the tips of my fingers once again carry the calluses earned from playing my guitar.

And perhaps, if I am especially fortunate, those fingers will once again strum familiar songs while sitting beside a campfire, watching the smoke dance in the evening breeze, with Carolann beside me and Georgie curled at our feet.

Maybe the goal of life is not to eliminate every inconvenience, but to recognize the blessings hidden within them.

Stay Golden,

TVW

Read Tom’s full essay here: Read the full essay (PDF) — and if it brings someone to mind, pass it along to them. Stay Golden.