Mom bustled around the kitchen checking supplies, preparing food – she was on a mission. I was busy playing with my toys, ignoring grownup stuff, but I could hear her dialing the black rotary phone that hung in the kitchen, talking to relatives, inviting them over.

“Come on Susan, get your coat and boots on,” Mom ordered.

“Why?”

“We’re going to Blytheswood to pick up a big box of hot dogs.”

“Awww, do I have to?”

“Come on, let’s go!” she was in no mood to quibble and she had a deadline.

Off we rumbled down the gravel road to Highway 77 then a left turn towards Blytheswood, a tiny village with a school, a couple of stores and a few houses. The shop we frequented was actually an old white two story frame house on the east side of the highway with a small addition tacked on the side with an “OPEN” sign in the window. We walked in the door to the tinkling of bells. The old style general store displayed a good selection of candy and ice cream as well as excellent boxed hot dogs – all the essentials.

The shopkeeper appeared on slippered feet through a curtained archway from the house-side of his establishment, welcoming us with a big smile. He padded off again to return with a big box of hot dogs.

“This is for our wiener roast tonight,” my Mom smiled with delight.

“In January? My goodness! You’re adventuresome!” laughed the shopkeeper. Then we said our goodbyes, stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

“Really? A wiener roast?” I asked wide-eyed as we walked to the car. I had been quiet up to this point due to the fistful of candy.

“Yes! We’ll just have to bundle up.” Mom was excited too.

It was the last week of January in the mid 60’s. The ground was frozen like concrete with a nice blanket of snow. But this part of Ontario always gets a few days of nice weather – we call it the January thaw. My parents had used the precious mild days to clean up some dead trees and scrub brush in the fence row bordering cousin Ernie’s farm. While cutting and stacking the good firewood, small branches were gathered into a pile that ended up being about the size of a car. While Mom organized the evening event, my Dad made a set of long wire skewers for roasting hotdogs and tended the merrily burning bonfire. By late afternoon the coals were bright orange powdered with white, grey and black ash. Heat radiated from the remnants of the pile and made a cheery glow as dusk descended.

Everyone started to arrive, bundled up with hats, scarves, mitts and coats, bringing food and many of the fixings including, of course, Leamington’s famous Heinz ketchup. Dad backed the pickup truck toward the fire to use the tailgate as a banquet table or as a bench for some while others used folding lawn chairs. Each of us were given one of the long wire skewers which we used to poke and stir the ashes, watching the tiny flames erupt again and again, dancing and flickering in the starlight. Darkness surrounded our glowing party, the firelight casting eerie shadows as it crackled and snapped.

Eventually hunger set in and empty skewers were loaded, mine with the help of my big sister. Hot dogs and marshmallows came dangerously close to turning to charcoal although even the burnt ones were delicious. The chill in the air made the food taste amazing as if we hadn’t eaten all day. The soft toasted buns, the fire-roasted hot dogs, the soft melting marshmallows, the huge pot full of baked beans mingled perfectly with the smell of the fire, the crackling of the flames and the flickering light glowing on dear faces. Mom basked in the family adventure, enjoying the sheer silliness and the fun, insisting on photos to mark the event. The kids were finally wrapped and nodding in blankets signalling it was time for bed. Leftovers were packed up from the tailgate. Smiles and laughter mingled with groans as cold, tired kids were roused and pulled towards waiting cars.

Mom beamed with satisfaction as she surveyed the scene, “Well we’ve done it! A January wiener roast!”

Years later while looking through old photos and reminiscing about that bonfire, I discovered the reason she celebrated it as such an achievement. Even though she was a wife, a business partner, a mother, a Sunday school teacher, a volunteer Explorer leader, she was still just a girl with a lively imagination. Mom was always wracking her brain for fun things to do to make lasting family memories. One of her aspirations was to have a bonfire and wiener roast party in every month of the year. With that spontaneous January evening, the full twelve months were checked off her list.