Sunday, July 8, 2012

Fire! Fire! Fire!

After seven years "working the wood" here in Maine every spring, cutting back the relentless advance of the brush into our living space on Cape Rosier, we have amassed a huge bundle of cuttings that need to be put somewhere.  
"Somewhere" had become the far corner of the property, on the crest of the hill leading down to the beach.  Seven years of collected brush that doesn't go away tends to grow bigger and bigger and ..... Finally, it had begun to obscure the view!



Hubby wants to buy a chipper.  We're talking LOTS OF MONEY here.  I say, let's just burn that dead and dying brush and move on.  I can find about a zillion different ways to spend $6000.00  As my sweet husband spent hours this week perusing on-line catalogues of wood-devouring machinery available for the laymen of the woods, I phoned up the local municipal offices and got a burn permit.

Free.
  A simple yellow form.
   Kinda pretty.

  Came with a 4 foot neon-pink, plastic ribbon stapled to the top lefthand corner, that if it were to become airborne, would indicate too much wind to light fires on our appointed burn date.  Don't tell anyone, but after 12 inches of rain over the past three days, we didn't even give the ribbon a chance to flutter in the wind.  There would be no danger of run-away fire.

I was the first one up and on the job by 8 am.  The tide was on the way out--time to get that brush down onto the beach.  It soon became obvious I was not a working-the-wood, born-and-bred-in-Maine type.
 I am from "Away".
I needed to recruit some help.  

Dripping platter-size drops of sweat, I gave in and sat down to wait for re-enforcements.  Our boys were on their way and would arrive by noon.

I was nice. 
 I made them lunch and let them change their clothes after their two-day drive before I put them to work.

The immensity of the brush pile, half on the bank and half down on the beach getting ready to be burned was awesome!




                                                  
The old picnic table was so rotted, we added it to the pile.



While the fire got really going, we watched the boats passing by on Penobscot Bay.




Nelson got worn out chasing his ball as it bounced over the seaweed pads and big rocks.

In all the excitement, there HAD to be a moment of drama.
I fell on the sharp rocks.
I killed myself, I almost fainted from the pain and I cried.

As there was no ice available, a bag of frozen green beans was pressed into emergency ice-pack-duty.  For all the tears and pain, the only result was a small cut and a huge bruise.  Even my camera that smashed on the rocks too, came away totally fine.  Hurrah!

This project took the whole day.  
From the turn of the tide at 8 in the morning, 'til the tide flooded back and washed away all evidence of a fire at 8 at night, we worked hard.

Our reward was dinner out at Buck's Harbour Market Restaurant.  A wonderful venue, great service and delicious food.  
The best part was the company.
Nothing like a family that works together in love!  Thanks Boys--you're the best!!





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