I just read a small snippet from the Robert Fulgham site. He was writing about brooms. He lit his old one on fire and threw it into the snow. Wooha! But of course, in his philosophical way, the story has more meaning that that.
I took my boys camping last summer and our treasured find of a campsite had a small broom sitting there beside the river, waiting for us. "Forget the Marshmallows, Roast the Broom" became our chant that evening (okay - we ate marshmallows too, and licorice, and salt-and-vinegar chips). The boys would stick the straw into the fire, pull it out in flames, wave it above their head, and dance about. Then, SLAM, stomp the broom out on the dirt floor, only to start again.
We felt like wild children from Neverland or Lord of the Flies. Savage. It was good fun.
Our story, has no more meaning that that.