A Burning Desire

Call me a pyromaniac. I love to burn stuff, especially in the early spring when that stuff comes in the form of dead grass along fencelines, roadways or anywhere else it looks unsightly. Soon, I'll begin the lawn-mowing assault to pretty up the place. Bill also talks about my lawn-mowing program as "Mowing North."

He's given Gary Bristow the title for "Mowing South." Gary lives out there past Sagle, and he mows just about as much unsightly road right-a-way as I do. In fact, I think he could give me a run for my money if one were to measure his mowing patches, extending both directions from his place along Mirror Lake Road.

I've wanted to mow the right-of-way between our place and Stan's, but I'd take some of Stan's brush hog pleasure away from him. And, I know how he enjoys revving up his old tractor and doing the occassional trim. So, I stay off from his land with my Craftsman.

Anyway, it's not mowing season yet, but that one dry, sunny day we all enjoyed so much yesterday allowed me to get started with my matches. It's a great time to burn too, cuz there's still enough snow surrounding the dry patches that worry of wildfire is pretty premature.

Yesterday's launch of my burning desires started with the lane to the machine shed. At least half of the southern side had ample dry grass for me to flick a flaming match on top and watch it take off.

Now, don't get me wrong. My satisfaction comes not from a ghoulish desire to watch things burn; instead, it stems directly from my annual desire to look at things clean and neat. There was a time when I was a child that the ghoul outweighed the neat freak.

That came under the leadership of one of my brothers who showed me how much fun it was to light a whole matchbook on fire and then drop it before it burned your fingers. Well, we practiced a lot, and when I had it mastered, I went to the woods and practiced some more, right near an old stump.

I guess all those books of matches I had snatched from the house burned a little longer than I had planned. Cuz one of them started the stump on fire---in mid-winter, mind you. I got in a lot of trouble over that one. I think it took a long time for that stump to stop smoldering, but thankfully it had burned out by summer.

My attitude toward the fiendish aspects of burning things has changed, but my desire to see something burn hot rather than fizzle hasn't changed. It's just more practical these days.

In my early spring cleaning mind, when a good grass fire gets going, I know I won't need to come back and reburn the mishmash that results when some spots are just too wet to burn. Last night I threw matches along a fenceline with the bottom wire drooping cuz of the weight of dead grass pulling it to the ground.

I'll have to return there today cuz only little portions wanted to burn. With a night of dryness, that area should look clean and neat by afternoon. With luck, all the messy dead stuff that detracts from spring beauty here at the Lovestead ought to be burned off over the next few days.

Then, I can start my lawn-mowing blitz, which doesn't stop until October. Tony came last week and serviced the fleet, so the equipment is all waiting and ready to go. And so am I.

Happy Sunday.