Well the start of this thread is lost, smudged out somewhere in the bottom layer of ashes in this old Mudcat camfire ring of stones.
Here's a fresh pile of dry sticks and tinder, starting her up again, breathing in the forest scent of pine needles and crisp May evening air, the thread of smoke twisting up from the first flames.

Here's a song to start us all off again, to gather the voices around the new fire... who has the marshmallows?

When it's springtime in the Rockies
I'll be comin' home to you...