Every July, my two sons and I drive up to a reservation in the White Mountains of Arizona for a guys-only camping vacation. On the second night of our trip one year, the three of us sat around a roaring fire. It had been raining off and on the whole weekend, but we’d brought plenty of firewood with us. My older son, Parker, made sure the fire was always crackling. “Where’s the rest of the wood?” he asked, adding more logs to the fire. “It’s all over there, behind that tree,” I said, pointing to the spot where
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