Burning buckthorn

To say that I love winter would be a lie. The plants die back; the wind slaps you in the face when you go outside. Travel can be difficult and dangerous. I wouldn’t say I hate winter either. I tolerate it. It feels good to snuggle into my sweatshirt and wool socks, have a lovely cup of tea in the afternoon. Certainly, I am ready to be done with gardening.

Most of the farmers in the area are done harvesting the soybeans. Now I can’t go anywhere without being stuck behind a combine or a tractor pulling grain wagons. In a week or two, weather permitting, the fields will be empty, resting up for spring.

We had our annual Halloween bonfire Sunday. Terry spent two days cutting up the three buckthorn trees that he’d girdled in May and making a massive brush pile by the fire ring. “I’ve noticed that any tree with ‘thorn’ in the name has really dense wood,” he reported. “That buckthorn will burn nice.”

Jane, Kate, Pat, and Nancy came out to help with the burn. They drove back while I got my boots on and walked. By the time I rounded the willows, flames were shooting into the sky. Terry didn’t waste any time! Here’s how it looked when I got closer.

Pat by the fire with a huge pile of buckthorn brush to be burned

Here’s a picture of the fire and brush pile from the other angle, taken at 2:25.

The fire at 2:25 p.m.

Pat, Nancy, Terry, and Hilda did the majority of the fire feeding. I was on injured reserve for this event due to a wee bit of surgery last week. I was forbidden to bend or twist. I sat with Jane and Kate, moving my chair away from the fire when it got too hot and closer when I was too cold. Now and then, there would be general agreement that the fire needed to burn down before any more wood went on. Everyone would sit down for about three minutes, then Pat and/or Terry would hop up and start stoking. Some people just can’t sit still.

Pat and Terry feeding the fire

Terry throwing on another branch

A brief rest time while the fire burned down

Terry had stashed our Christmas trees from last year out by the fire ring. Here is a video of our concolor fir burning up.

By 3:40, all the brush was on the fire. 

3:40 p.m, one hour and 20 minutes after the fire started, the brush pile was gone.

Pat went wandering off in the woods to see if she could find a few more dead sticks. She also checked the creek for arrowheads (she has never found one), and came back with a round, metal object. “What is this?” she asked.

“The top of a lawnmower,” Terry replied immediately. I only knew that it looked familiar. It would have taken me awhile to place it.

“I’m sure it’s an Indian lawnmower,” I said, trying to be helpful.

By 3:55, the fire was burning down. It would smolder the rest of the night. Buckthorn is dense wood. Terry went out several times to turn it and be sure it was behaving itself. The rest of us played a bit of Mexican train while the lasagna baked. Hilda made garlic bread, and we had cherry pie for dessert. It was a nice celebration of fall before the inevitable hunkering down.

The fire at 3:55, still cranking out the BTUs.