Burn Baby, Burn

I live in a house surrounded by five acres of land. The space is nice, and I must say that I do enjoy working outside, gardening, tending the fruit trees, and puttering around the property. One of the negative parts of owning five acres, however, is the fact that, in the Fall, I can’t just rake a few leaves, toss them into a can and put them out on the curb for the garbage truck to pick up. There is just too much clutter that accumulates from all the trees, bushes, and other plants.

Instead, I tend to gather up this type of yard debris periodically and deposit it into large piles around the property to be dealt with at a later time. If I ignore it long enough, rows of these brush heaps accumulate all over the place. It looks like a family of beavers moved in and decided they were going to start building their dams on dry land. Tangles of sticks, brush, and tree limbs end up forming an extended barrier between my house and my neighbor.

Which I suppose isn’t a terrible thing. You know what they say about “good fences.”

And, just like a beaver dam, these ignored piles of rubbish end up teeming with animal life. Every bird, mouse, lizard, and stray cat from miles around decides these piles are the perfect places to establish a home base. I’ve even seen a hawk perched on top of one of my brush piles. It was probably just waiting for one of the aforementioned critters to try to make a run for it.

I have to admit, there is good news regarding these growing mounds of rubbish. Once or twice each year, I get to have a fire. And I don’t mean a little fire where you can stand around it and roast a few marshmallows. Oh, no. I mean a great big, awesome, signal flare into space kind of fire. The kind of fire that absolutely delights the pyromaniac little kid deep inside me.

The best part is that it is completely legal! In fact, the fire department wants you to dispose of your yard waste and issues burn permits for you to do it. Had I tried to do something similar at my old home, I’m quite certain the neighbors would have made a big deal about it and called the police. Apartment living can be so restrictive sometimes.

A few weeks ago, I had the immense pleasure of doing a yard-waste burn. It’s a lot of fun, but there are a few things that have to be done before you put match to wood. The first thing you have to do before setting fire to your yard is you need to call the fire department and let them know what you are doing.

When I called them last time to let them know I was going to be lighting a fire, the woman who answered the phone asked, “What is your address, please?  The fire truck needs to know where to go to put out what’s left of your house.”

You’ve got to love dispatchers with a sense of humor. At least, I think she was being funny. Or maybe she knew me somehow and was just preparing for the inevitable.

The next step is to set up a folding chair nearby stocked with sodas, snacks and a couple of cigars. Yup, I said cigars. I figure if I’m going to spend the next four to six house inhaling smoke, I want some of it to be intentional. There is just something a little bit Zen about smoking a cigar while you watch a ten-foot wall of flame swirling around right in front of you. My psychologist has other opinions, but he wasn’t there so, I’ll deal with his disapproval later.

Last, but most important, is getting the brush pile lit. Usually this isn’t a big deal. This year, however, we had just had a heavy rain the night before and everything was wet and soggy. I don’t know if any of you have ever tried to light pile of wet wood and leaves, but it can be tricky. A lighter just isn’t going to get the job done.

Fortunately, I can be very resourceful. After rummaging through the garage and locating two cans of lighter fluid, a large bag of charcoal, and an old road flare, starting a fire was no longer a problem. And, you don’t have to be MacGyver to figure out the best possible combination of those items. Less than ten minutes later, me and my one remaining eyebrow were sitting comfortably in the camp chair smoking a cigar and sipping on a diet soda.

I spent the next few hours evicting wildlife from their homes as I dismantled the various piles of debris that weren’t on fire and threw them into the one that was. It’s a good workout and I broke a sweat a couple of times as I lugged some of the larger branches around. Okay that’s not completely true. I did start to sweat a few times, but it was less about the workout and more about me being fat and out of shape and standing too close to an 800-degree blast furnace. Telling myself that I was getting a workout, though, makes me feel better about the rest of the day just sitting in a chair and pushing Oreos in my mouth while giggling at the big fire I made.

At about four o’clock that afternoon, it was all over. There was nothing left to burn. I grabbed the garden hose and flooded the last of the hot coals smoldering on the ground. The gout of steam and ash as the cold water hit the glowing embers was almost as high as the original flames.

As I stirred and re-flooded the now dead burn site, I saw one of the fire trucks from our local station drive by the front of my house. It felt a little bit personal. The team was probably just making the rounds and checking the addresses of all the people that had called in a request to burn that day, so, it’s possible I’m just being paranoid.

But, I could have sworn that the guy driving the firetruck had a disappointed look on his face.

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