Prolegomena to many future festivities:

For what reasons do Hazel Houses materialize other than to make possible indescribably sublime sylvan evenings with fires of ridiculous proportions roaring, foods of absurd tastiness cooking and fabulous friends of profound knowledge and divine erudition pontificating? This is indeed what Hazel Houses are for! (Plus shelter, security, food and other fun things.)
Last Saturday evening all was right in the world, for we had such wonders in spades. By the time I arrived, myriad blankets and doggy in tow, the roaring fire which Clint had cultivated all afternoon was a sight to be seen (and indeed felt: I do think I may have become sunburned!). Having spent the last fortnight clearing the land of various and sundry rotten logs, tired trees, and perniciously ankle grabbing roots, we have accumulated six massive piles of potential fire starters: every pyromaniacs' dream. Clint et al. certainly took advantage of this bounty!
Joining us in these revels were Eric the great and his divine Joia, Pepe the visiting emissary from Chicago, Catherine the ever-lovely and Fritz the fabulously named. Fritz' surly old elkhound took none to kindly to the young whipper-snapper Gracie; or, perhaps, it was Gracie who took none to kindly to her. At any rate, there were some snarls and scuffles, but none to wake the dead.
All in all a splendid time was had by all in a gathering befitting such glorious Hazel Houseness.