Toasting the Season on the Ellipse

Adults need convincing, too. At first, they don't believe in the fire.

"You think those are real?"

"That must be gas."

Suddenly they notice the mountain of wood. They are shocked. They begin to believe. They start to use all their senses and notice other evidence: Sparks, smoke. Fake logs don't give off sparks and smoke.

Some will never believe. They go away insisting there must be hidden gas jets in the pit fueling the flames. No: Every year this fire is started the old-fashioned way, with kindling and without lighter fluid. The Park Service crew tends the fire around the clock, adding a big load near midnight that will burn until dawn. They are proudly, even showily, obeying an ancient law, one as old as the universe, one indifferent and invulnerable to technology: If you do not feed the fire, the fire will go out.

The rest of the year, steel plates and 14 inches of sod and turf cover the pit, so you don't know it's there. But come 11 p.m. on chill December nights, the people are still gathered around the bonfire, absorbing and reflecting.

Now the electric lights on the National Christmas Tree and the nativity scene shut off. The exhibition is closing for the night. The last song has Andy Williams declaring: "It's the most wonderful time of the year."

The fire pilgrims turn away from the glow to face the dark and the cold. Wending home they notice something that makes them smile: It has been so long since their clothes smelled of wood smoke.