The neighbor across the street is burning trash. In fact, he’s been burning trash for about a week now. A couple of days ago the flames were reaching probably ten feet high and the interior of our house was glowing orange from the reflection. I’m wondering exactly how much trash the guy has . . . he’s obviously cleaning out his garage. What the heck else is he cleaning out? The attic and every closet, cupboard, nook and cranny, obviously. Not to mention the shed out back. I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to tear the siding off his house next, and burn that too. It could use new siding.
The spooky thing is that the guy has a couple of dead trees in his yard, and his burn pile (which changes location depending on I’m not sure what) has come pretty darn close to those dangerous towers of kindling now and then. I guess I just have to trust that our neighbor knows what he’s doing and that, in case he doesn’t, the fire department will respond quickly enough to keep a complete disaster from happening.
Staying calm and trusting in someone who builds bonfires beneath dead trees which lean precariously close to his house is a hard thing for me to do. I like fires in fireplaces and the occasional driveway fire-pit or empty (like, completely empty) field. Not in the front yard of the house across the street. I’m a city girl! I can’t help it! Random burn piles still make me nervous.
In fact, I think I’m kind-of a wimp, when it comes down to it. SuperDad sometimes burns piles of leaves down on the end of our driveway, right near the street and away from anything flammable like cars, dead trees, and people, and I *still* get nervous if he doesn’t watch it every single second. If he turns his back to rake more leaves, I immediately start envisioning rogue gusts of wind lifting smoldering embers up onto our roof. Yeah, I’m kinda puny like that.
On the other hand, any fire small enough, controlled enough, and watched enough to roast marshmallows around has my vote of approval.