Hey, Calcifer, bend your head down!

In the ancient days the coming in of spring was celebrated with naked orgies. Judaism took a step in the right direction, telling everyone to slaughter a lamb and roast it over fire (boiling explicitly not allowed!) There's something platonic in that, I suspect, but the tradition continues as men and women fire up their grills for the first time in what can only be called an American rite of spring. There's no apportioned time for it of course, but if you have not done it by Memorial Day, you are weird. Even apartment dwellers must take their little three-footed grill out to the municipal park and elevate a smell of lighter fluid soaked charcoal to the heavens. Those with gas grills might be heeding the letter of the law, but they completely miss the spirit, or perhaps it is the elemental they miss. Because fire burning charcoal or would is primal. Prometheus brought a coal in a fennel stalk, not a tank of propane and a propane accessory.

Here in Minnesota, the date is determined by when your cabin-fever breaks you. It's always safe this time of year with the ground saturated by snowmelt. I fired it up today. Burgers and winter squash will be what is cooked on it. The burning fat raising scents heavenward, a pleasing odor.

The squash was cut for the grill with a jigsaw, just what every kitchen needs. Morgan came up from the basement, saw me cutting squash with a jigsaw and broke into a broad smile. How many wives would be appalled? Not mine - she was delighted. The squash I'm cooking will be enough for two meals. The burgers for tonight. And the bonus? I still have all my fingers.