Fire and Ice

Weather: The difference between morning temperatures below 20 degrees F and afternoons when it’s possible to work outdoors in the sun is the difference between the pessimist and the optimist. The Weather Bureau falls in the second group when it says there was a warming trend this past week.

Last useful snow: 10/27. Week’s low: 14 degrees F. Week’s high: 62 degrees F in the shade.

What’s still green: Cholla cactus; leaves on privet, juniper and other evergreens, Japanese honeysuckle, yuccas, red hot poker, chives, grape hyacinth, bouncing Bess, pinks, pink evening primroses, golden spur columbine, snapdragons, blue flax, green leaf five eyes, hollyhock, winecup mallow, Queen Anne’s lace, anthemis, yarrow, purple aster, dandelions, June, needle, and cheat grass

What’s still gray or gray-green: Leaves on Apache plume, cliff rose, fernbush, winterfat, snow-in-summer, catmint

Tasks: I continued cleaning debris from around some rose bushes. The limiting condition wasn’t the weather, but my socks. I wanted to wear wool ones, but they collect bits of weeds and grass. It can take 15 minutes to clean them when I come in.

I found some rubber boots that came over the ankle. However, they only kept out the seeds when I made sure my sweatpants’ bottoms stayed outside the boots. When the elastic slipped inside, the cotton acted as a conduit directing the organic bits onto my socks.

I was cautious when I ordered them. Years ago I used rubber galoshes for yard work. They were a bit too low cut, but the ground was rarely dry. Water from earlier rains, the dew, or my watering always created wet spots.

The last time I ordered a pair, I discovered they had been gentrified. Instead of plain rubber, the manufacturer had put in a fabric insole that not only collected seeds but stood them erect. I couldn’t remove the seeds and I couldn’t remove the insole. I could put the rubbers in the trash.

I wondered why the maker thought everything had to fit the needs of the Martha Stewarts of the world who are always immaculately groomed in the yard and stress how one needn’t be discomforted by work. The boot maker had not so such illusions about its market.

Animal sightings: Small birds

Weekly update: This week I finally got rid of the last bag of peaches. It took two months to get the harvest hauled away.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t burn anything because I had put the bags near the burn pile. It was the only gravel place that was out of the way.

That didn’t mean the burn pile remained static. I spent the fall cutting dead wood from trees and shrubs, and adding it to the heap.

Now I could burn. There were only two prerequisites: a still day and running water. The still time was a challenge in the summer. Gentle breezes always came up in late morning as soon as the air warmed. It didn’t have to be a wind to make a fire dangerous. I always burned very early in the day.

Running water wasn’t a problem. I turned the garden hose on low and held it in one hand as I watched the fire. Only rarely have I needed to turn water on a stray ember that landed in the grass.

This past week, every day was still, but the mornings were all below freezing.

I decided it would be safer if I used a hose connected to the house, rather than to the frost-free hydrant. The hose I usually used was threaded through grasses in the shadow of the garage.

At about 10 am yesterday, I turned on the hose that was connected to the house. At first nothing happened, then shards of ice came out in 3" to 4" sections. That hose was laying on tiles on the east side of the house.

Next I connected the hose that was laying on the back porch. Little water came through because of kinks. Since it was cold, I feared, if I tried to unkink it, the hose would crack. Only slowly was I able to flatten the narrowest section.

Finally, I connected the hose that reached the burn pile. It had been coiled on gravel near the globe willow. When I turned it on, more ice came out. The pieces were about 3/8" in diameter, much thinner than the supposed 5/8" diameter of the hose. This was water that didn’t drain, but stayed on the bottom. However, the ice pieces were round like the hose, not flat.

Once I had a reliable source of running water, I stuck a small piece of paper in the pile on the east side and lit it with a match. The flames worked out from the ignition point, usually advancing under the flames so the smoke pointed east. There was little smoke. What there was didn’t bother me.

The air was cold, which may have limited the temperature of the fire. It certainly was too hot to approach. The twigs turned white, but kept their shape. I suppose if I had let them smolder they would eventually have turned to ashes. They look like so many snakes in a ghostly pyre. Their diameter wasn’t that different from the ice.

When the flames had died from the last leaves and twigs, I turned the hose on softly. In some places, the remains hissed when the water hit them, and it others they did not—they had already cooled. The white remains turned black.

Smoke rose, or rather smoke and steam, and it pointed west. It wasn’t long before my stomach began to complain about the fumes.

The peach branch that came down in late May from the weight of the fruit still hadn’t disappeared. It’s been fired six times now. However, it has gotten much smaller.

This afternoon I took the small broom rake and swept up the bits of wood that hadn’t burned and directed them to the peach branch. Then, I added today’s contribution to the next burn pile. The process never ends.

Notes on photographs: Taken 16 November 2019.