Not last year's drought, but the drought year before that, one might recall that we lost an estimated ninety percent of the juniper up on the hillside above the Creek. That's about five acres of brown-to-graying going on up there. I'm clearing some of it.
But we need a cool, windless, humid day that I'm not already working on the ambulance if we're going to burn that stuff. Yesterday was the first day to meet all these criteria.
Beginning at about seven-thirty, I parked the pickup near the deer blind a hundred fifty yards above the burn area so it and a couple cans of gas and chain saw fuel would be safe. Even though a mist fell gently all day long, the dry cedar ignited easily and burned with flames till about four-thirty. The coals lasted the night.
All day, huge white ashes fell slowly, swinging gently in the air as they dropped. The devil's snow flakes, lighter than air for a brief few seconds, and then cooling and falling on me and the dark wet stones around the fire. As long as the wind didn't blow, I knew these ashes would pose no problem of starting a flame elsewhere.
So I spent nine hours cutting boughs and stumps and tossing most of them steadily onto the flames. One of the joys of this sort of work is what I was able to see in the process. Ferns, lichens, and mosses are taking advantage of the wetter weather. I saw, too, a flower I don't remember ever having identified before: Nemastylis geminiflora, sometimes called Celestials. This one grows only half a foot tall.
When I had tired out nearly completely, I carried the shovels and chain saw back up to the truck through a cool rain. And the pickup looked as though it had been shat upon by a thousand incontinent grackles angrily perched overhead. Indeed, an imperceptible wind had carried the ashes all over the hillside, leaving white streaks all across our shiny gray truck. Safely.
A couple weeks ago we got threats of a storm, but no rainfall like yesterday's .1 inch.
On the fifth of March, we planted asparagus roots:
Thanks to Harlin for the images below, beginning with an old stalk of a Spanish dagger yucca:
He suggested the creation of “Smilax bona-nox Leaves Day” for February 23 in honor of the changing colors of the greenbriar:
But we need a cool, windless, humid day that I'm not already working on the ambulance if we're going to burn that stuff. Yesterday was the first day to meet all these criteria.
Beginning at about seven-thirty, I parked the pickup near the deer blind a hundred fifty yards above the burn area so it and a couple cans of gas and chain saw fuel would be safe. Even though a mist fell gently all day long, the dry cedar ignited easily and burned with flames till about four-thirty. The coals lasted the night.
All day, huge white ashes fell slowly, swinging gently in the air as they dropped. The devil's snow flakes, lighter than air for a brief few seconds, and then cooling and falling on me and the dark wet stones around the fire. As long as the wind didn't blow, I knew these ashes would pose no problem of starting a flame elsewhere.
So I spent nine hours cutting boughs and stumps and tossing most of them steadily onto the flames. One of the joys of this sort of work is what I was able to see in the process. Ferns, lichens, and mosses are taking advantage of the wetter weather. I saw, too, a flower I don't remember ever having identified before: Nemastylis geminiflora, sometimes called Celestials. This one grows only half a foot tall.
When I had tired out nearly completely, I carried the shovels and chain saw back up to the truck through a cool rain. And the pickup looked as though it had been shat upon by a thousand incontinent grackles angrily perched overhead. Indeed, an imperceptible wind had carried the ashes all over the hillside, leaving white streaks all across our shiny gray truck. Safely.
A couple weeks ago we got threats of a storm, but no rainfall like yesterday's .1 inch.
On the fifth of March, we planted asparagus roots:
 |
| every eighteen inches, in two rows |
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