It seems my husband and I never do have great luck when it comes to Valentine’s Days. Something always seems to go awry despite our best efforts, but I’m really coming to enjoy the adventures of it all.

This year, we planned a quiet backyard evening spent roasting marshmellows and hot dogs. We live far out into the rolling countryside of rural North Carolina, and this was a perk of being 30 minutes from the nearest city. We had solitude. I could see little white puffs of warm air floating out both of our mouths as we readied our little fire site. I had high hopes. We had our speakers (to blast my favorite folk music of course), our snacks, our chairs, a warm blanket and lots of anticipation.

What we didn’t have – was a fire.

No matter how hard we tried, everything was just to moist from yesterday’s rain. We threw gasoline on it a few times (oh yeah, reaaaaal safe), but never got the sweet flame to flicker for longer than a few minutes before it stubbornly sizzled out into a trail of smoke.

The hotdogs sat still chilled in their wrappers. The chocolate remained cool and unmelted. It began to feel a lot colder outside than when we first started, and I stared at the dark fire pit as the moon shone overhead.

But life was not meant for sulking. I took a few bites of our chocolate bars (you can bet I wasn’t letting any of that go to waste), Shawn turned up our music and we slow danced in the dark of our backyard to one of my favorite songs.

And it was as lovely a Valentine’s Day as I can remember.