One of the reasons we started taking our youth group to last weekend's campsite is a natural amphitheater I discovered hidden there. It has a granite wall on the west side, about 15-20 feet high with rocks curving around to make the north, east and southeast walls. There is a gap wide enough for two people abreast in the south end, and a narrower exit under a large over-hanging pine in the southwest corner of the bowl. Fits a dozen people comfortably, but we crowded in about 30 two years ago.

It has a narrow gap in the east wall, where your shoulders almost touch the sides. The high point, on the west wall, is cleft, providing the perfect crack for a flag pole. The center of the amphitheater is flat, with at least a foot of soft dirt surrounded by benches of rock.

A nearly perfect arena for ceremonies, skits and a campfire rarely disturbed by winds. But when the winds do find this hole, the sparks fly and swirl like fairy dust.

Because of scheduling conflicts and other obligations, our youth group was the only one that camped out a second night. Two of our members, the snake-paranoid and his tentmate, had already prepared a fire pit with a large cabin-design wood pile in the amphitheater.

Through her contacts in the community, the wife had acquired an American flag that was no longer fit to fly. With the outer corners worn away and a large split up between two stripes, it was due for retirement.

Early Saturday morning, youngest son and I hiked up to the amphitheater and raised the worn flag on the tall wooden pole in the crack in the wall.

One last day of glory.

After dinner and before sunset, I snuck up alone and sat below the flag for a while, listening to it snap in the breeze.

Then, shortly after sunset, we hiked up to the amphitheater as a group. Three adult leaders, and 8 boys, ages 10-15. Maybe it was just me, but the boys seemed unusually quiet.

From the bowl of the amphitheater, we gave the flag one last recitation of the American Pledge of Allegiance.

The way it is written, with only four pauses. Not the short, chopped-up version that is taught in American schools.

I and two color guard members climbed the wall while Paranoid lit his pyre.

The flag received its last hand salute as it was lowered in the dimming light.

One of the color guard whispered that I should lower the flag slowly. Already had that in mind, but you have no idea how good it felt that he came up with that suggestion on his own.

It was dark by the time the color guard returned to the amphitheater floor with the flag, which they stretched out between them. I remained above, and had to use my flashlight to read aloud selected excerpts from a history of the flag.

Voice didn't break as much as it did two years ago, but it broke.

When I was done, the two youths walked the opened flag over the fire and laid it down. To prevent any part from touching the ground, they flipped each corner in towards the center and into the flames.

You have to be careful burning flags. Some are made out of materials that ignite extremely quickly, like nylon. This one was quick.

When all traces were gone, the scouts went into a huddle and began planning their skits.

I went to the bonfire to find the treasure.

It was laying in the fire, on top of one top log, glowing red.

A grommet.

A metal grommet from the American flag. I fished it out with a stick and set it on a rock by the wife to cool.

We three adults were the only audience for the theater presented in the arena. It didn't matter.

Wife and I had seen all the skits before.

That didn't matter either.

After the first few, I picked up the cool, cleaned grommet and gave it to the other leader. He's new, and a good hand.

Couldn't see if he was pleased or unimpressed by the gift, but the wife gave me a nudge that she approved. Later, by the firelight, I could see he had his multi-tool out, working the grommet onto his key chain.

Later, I found and fished out the second grommet. Not sure what to do with it. One of the grommets from two years ago hangs by a wire from the rearview mirror in the wife's Explorer. It squeaks on every turn. Perhaps this one should go to an Eagle.

For those of you who are Americans, please remember Thursday is Flag Day.

And for those of you who aren't, please forgive our overdone devotion to this red, white and blue piece of cloth.

We can't help ourselves.