This story goes back further than our backyard

Recently, our family decided it was time to upgrade our backyard fire situation.

Years ago, our next-door neighbor gave us an old stand-up firepit. We’ve used it plenty: fires for special occasions, random evenings outside, marshmallows burned beyond recognition. But apparently, that wasn’t “legit” enough anymore. The family wanted something more settled. Something official. Something permanent.

So we committed to an in-ground firepit.

The first challenge was choosing the location.

My wife and I stood in the backyard testing out different spots, and confidently making decisions that we immediately questioned.

“No-too close to the pool screen enclosure. Fire, water & screens don’t belong in the same sentence.”
“No-that’s right by the avocado tree. Fire-roasted guac was not in the plans.”
“No-too close to the house. The security camera light will interrogate us all night.”

After rejecting every logical option, we finally landed on the one spot no one used for anything…the far back corner of the yard where we had removed an old tree and the ground was basically useless.

Perfect.

Once the spot was chosen, the kids grabbed leftover pavers from an old driveway project and went to work. By the time they finished, the firepit looked shockingly good. Like… magazine good. Almost too nice to actually light a fire in.

In fact, we still haven’t used it yet.

But it looks fantastic and it was very cost-effective, since we used leftover pavers from our driveway project that were originally bought for a “future project” that, let’s be honest, probably won’t happen in the next 20 years.

All of this reminded me how much I’ve always loved fires.

Growing up, we camped all the time. I was the pyromaniac kid who always had a burning stick from a campfire in his hand. There was something mesmerizing about watching a fire burn…calming, relaxing…probably mildly concerning.

One night while camping, I was sitting by the fire alone when I noticed a pack of cigarettes had fallen out of someone’s pocket who we were camping with as he was sitting on a folding chair.

Now, I knew smoking was bad. I had heard the whole list: lung cancer, bad breath, wrinkles, early death, total rejection from society if ever caught.

But I was 12.

So naturally, curiosity, combined with a rebellious heart and poor judgment won.

I grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff. Maybe two.

Immediately, my body staged a full-scale rebellion.

I started coughing uncontrollably, lungs on fire, eyes watering, heart racing, convinced I had just shaved decades off my life. I threw the cigarette into the fire and literally started running wind sprints around the campsite, desperately trying to “flush the smoke out of my system” before I died.

(This was my 12-year old medical logic at work.)

That coughing fit scared me straight. My body made the decision for me before my brain could talk me out of it.

Maybe it was psychosomatic.
Maybe it was fear.
Maybe it was a guilty conscience.
Maybe it was divine intervention.

Whatever it was, I’m grateful it wasn’t enjoyable.

I didn’t get used to it. I didn’t build up a tolerance. I didn’t get hooked.

I got scared spitless.

And that fear probably saved me.

Because here’s the thing, had that cigarette felt mild, manageable, or even kind of okay, I might have negotiated with myself. Tried it again. Explained it away. Learned to tolerate something that never belonged in my body in the first place.

But my body didn’t whisper. It panicked.

And because the response was dramatic, the decision was easy.

The problem is, most health issues don’t give us a coughing-fit moment.

They start quietly.
A little stiffness.
A little tightness.
A little fatigue.
A little “that’s weird.”

Nothing scary enough to act on.
Nothing urgent enough to change.

Until one day, the body stops being polite.

Pain is often the body’s last resort, not its first warning.

Looking back, who knows, maybe that night by the campfire planted the seed for me becoming a chiropractor. Maybe not.

I’m thankful my body scared me early.
Because the problems that ruin health aren’t the loud ones.
They’re the quiet ones you tolerate too long.

Dr. Derek “Burning Down the House” Taylor