Recently I read a blogger talking about the joys of being able to burn debris on his ten-acre property in a rural area. I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I'm no longer subjected to such "joys". Hosanna to Cape George and its no-burn zone.
Ah, I must confess to being a "burner" though when I lived in Clallam county. It was then I begin to learn there was a "pyro" lurking in the recesses of every rural psyche. It starts innocently. You start to enjoy, slowly begin to relish, then can't live without the addictive satisfaction of watching yard waste and various other debris go bye-bye without a dump fee.
Seeing flames lick higher and higher grips you too. It stirs something primitive - the joy that comes of warmth; or maybe it's buried memories of group hunts and cooking wild boar; or sleeping well knowing beasties won't jump you in the night. Or yule logs and pagan rites. Or de-cluttering. Or vanquishing darkness....
Back then, I watched it work on a neighbor across from me who started burning occasionally. Then regularly, once a week. Shifting winds choked me with smoke... even though it was acres away. Sometimes pleasant odors but increasingly acrid... the smell of something industrial. I could never catch what it was... even with powerful binoculars. She/he had an advanced case.
Now, I admit almost succumbing to the devilish ways of this incipient "pyromania" for a few seasons. Then angst over global warming and flying embers and a possible runaway fire started to poison my joy. The final straw: a neighbor came each time to ask if he could add his own debris "since you already have a fire going". How could I really enjoy guilty pleasures if I was enabling others to go down this dark path...
Then, it came to me.. I had three acres... and several groves of trees. Branches, trimmings, the odd piece of furniture, a bit of construction debris could all be broken down. Mostly just composted under the trees. It blends in nicely, nearly invisibly, in three treed acres. Above ground it becomes "yard art".
Once in a while it needed to be broken down and buried like my old porcelain toilet that needed a good "dirt nap". Yep, I admit that too - gradually there were "buried bodies" all over my property. Out of sight but that's the natural order of things after all. And no global warming..
Now my evolution is complete. My pyromania is a distant memory. Here, in Cape George, I don't burn... ever. Wouldn't if I could. But I still sweep a few small branches under a "green carpet" of existing bushes. Makes a good mulch. Avoids a dump fee. What's more viscerally satisfying than that...
