It only takes a spark . . .

A neighbor up at the farm decided Saturday was a great day to burn trash. Yes, folks still do that up in the country. His method was not quite as sophisticated as most folk, who incinerate their refuse in a "burn barrel." His was the "burn pile" motif, a bit more primitive. It was in fact a perfect day for burning. The forestry service thought so as well.. They had banned all burning of any kind. It was so hot, dry and windy Saturday they wouldn't let you walk outside with heartburn for fear it might spread.

Anyway, the trash burned well in his backyard, followed amazingly quickly by about a hundred acres of our family farm being scorched. I heard that more than a hundred or so folks from around there tried to contain it, and they did. It could have been much worse if it had spread. I didn't hear about the fire until the next day.

The farm will be okay. The gazebo by the fishpond was consumed, along with the swing and all the broken fishing rods and reels and leaky rafts and odds and ends stored inside. The Lowry's old travel trailer which had been sitting up above the pond for a couple of decades collecting varmints was also in the path of the inferno. All that remains are the metal shells of the appliances. That may have been a blessing. The early sixties model trailer had been sitting there for years with some of the original stuff still in it from the last time it was actually slept in by humans. Sweatshirts, tennis shoes, cans of beans, pots and pans, old pillows, towels, blankets, trivial pursuit, playing cards, old batteries, flashlights, a radio, matches and lighters. Good times. Great times. But it was not pristine, even then. Now non-humans had been its tenants in the past few years and brought along some of their own stuff. Last time I was in it I was trying to find a match that was dry and it was getting dark. I'm not ashamed to say I was scared. If I were a snake, I would have lived in that trailer. Nobody really wanted to clean it up. There's nothing to clean up now.

Daddy's tractor was parked under a water oak tree between the gazebo and the travel trailer. It is a fine old rusting red diesel with a bush-hog and a front-end loader. Daddy spends most of his time keeping air in the tires, re-charging the battery and getting it to run. But it usually starts for him. He knows the combination of starter, throttle, and accelerant and it is quite the sight to see him execute the starting sequence. I never saw a tire melt completely away and disappear off a vehicle. But I have now. So daddy will have some work to do before he worries about trying to start the tractor again. New tires, new hoses, new wiring.

The big old barn had mostly fallen down in the last couple of years. It had some good wood in it that we meant to use for some other project. Turns out that good wood burned good. All that was left of the big, old falling down barn was sheets of tin covering a layer of ashes.

Tommy will have to get a new trailer to haul his tractor.

The outhouse stands unscathed.

As I walked the length of charred field from the gate to the pond, the place seemed so much bigger. All of the hedges and undergrowth were gone. About halfway I saw something moving toward me from the right. I turned my head and saw two deer running through the barren open field. It was a long run in the open. There was something unnatural about watching them run so far without cover. They looked annoyed and winded when they finally made it to the other side of the burnt field. As I got closer to the pond I watched one of those big water birds with the legs that bend funny and that have a wingspan of about 6 or 8 feet rise up and began to fly. He flew to the horizon and out of my sight.

I got all philosophical as I finally turned to walk back to my car, which is a fairly common occurrence for those who have spent much time alone at the farm.

The farm will be okay.

And that makes me feel a little more okay too.


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