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If winter is near then it’s time for the Thatcher Woods volunteers to start burning up piles of buckthorn that have been cut during the growing season. This exercise in beneficial pyromania has become one of my favorite pastimes for a couple of reasons. When I was a kid the chore of raking leaves was enticing because once the work was done the slightly dangerous thrill of burning them up remained. Today if I lived out in the country burning a pile of brush wouldn’t be worth noting, but this is about the only legitimate excuse left in our urbanized world to get a whiff of burning autumn leaves.
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River Forest, 2009
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The other attractions reside within the work itself. Of course it feels good to help dispose of buckthorn, one of the most problematic invasive species we have around here. Beyond that the effort expended has its own unique satisfaction to those who engage in it. Everything needs doing, but the volunteers seem to gravitate towards the tasks that suits them. Some people cut the live buckthorn, others drag it to the burn pile.
It must be because I’m an Aries, because I always seem to wind up near the fire. I like the process of getting the fire started, and then keeping it going. Today it was easy - the weather was warm and dry - but it’s a different matter altogether when there is wet snow on the pile. My favorite tools are the loppers and the fire rake. The loppers are used to prune the brush down to manageable lengths, making them easier to burn. I use the fire rake to push the that brush deeper into the established fire and to extinguish flames that start getting away from the main pile.
The fire can sometimes get big and hot, and one must be careful not to get too close or get a snoot full of smoke. It’s not as easy as it looks. It takes a certain awareness- that I apparently have yet to master - to stay on the “smart side” of the burning pile thus avoiding the drift of the smoke. Eventually the work slows down and the crew gets tired. Because it was such a fine day many of us took a breather, sitting on logs admiring the dwindling fire, much like our ancestors have done for countless millennia.
Finally, there’s the chance just to be out in the woods, and see what’s going on. In past burns I have seen some sights. Once, a herd of deer approached us - rather boldly I thought - their desire for food outstripping their fear of humans burning things. One other time the group heard Sandhill cranes flying unseen above the cloud layer. Today I managed a glimpse of a Red-tailed hawk. He was zigzagging through the tree tops towards the open field. Unlike the deer from that previous season he knew where his lunch was, and it wasn’t where our fire smoldered.
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6 comments:
Good job. There's nothing like the smell of a nice, Autumn fire. Cool on spotting the hawk, too!
Lana - It was a nice day out!
For thirty years here on Oak Hill I slowly, small section by small section, removed gooseberries, I not sure why. Maybe it was the slowly advancing oak wilt?? or white pine rust. And then in the fall there we dead branches to add. And then the burning. Not to big. Not too small. Keep it going.... the smell. I loved it.
troutbirder - Like taking a spade to the soil in spring, it's becoming a favored ritual!
I was always in charge of the fire when we went camping as children. I could get it going more quickly than anyone.
Marvin - I knew you were alright!
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