Monday, May 19, 2014

Controlled Burn

Here on Waverly Lane, you never know what you're going to see next, and one evening about two weeks ago, I happened to notice that my shoreline was ablaze.

While most people might be startled at such a sight, my worn-down nerves knew that this was not necessarily an emergency.

(Even though to most normal people this screams, "EMERGENCY!")

Daughter and I calmly sprinted walked out the back door to take a closer look at the situation.  

Daughter shared the joyous occasion with friends via iPhone, no doubt with a comment like, "Oh, nothing, just finished up some supper and am now watching the blazing inferno that is my back yard."

You can't get this type of entertainment in the city--that's the lesson here, Daughter.

My father intentionally sets the shoreline afire every so often, for reasons that used to make sense but which now escape me. He takes a rake and delicately lifts burning brush onto the dead marsh grass. The fire usually stops where the green foliage begins (due to the moisture).

Although he's in good shape for his age, he gets winded easily, and, let's face it. He's not as agile and spry as he used to be. So I always worry.  But this time, thankfully, he came out unscathed. The fire went out in a hurry on its own, and we quickly returned to normal, frazzled nerves and all.

Things were normal for only a little while though.  Late last week as I was approaching Waverly Lane on my way home from work, I came face to face with the inevitable:  the tilling of the daffodil field in preparation for the corn crop.

The daffodil field full of bulbs way older than I am (and I'm no spring chicken either) was being changed forever.

Goodbye, daffodils. I will miss you terribly. Hello corn.

Click here for a 2011 post referencing Royal Colony Farm, the daffodil business my grandfather operated.

Click here for the 2012 version of Let's Have Fun Intentionally Setting Fires in One's Yard.

Happy Monday.


Anonymous said...

The fire pix were cool, tilling photos were sad. Of course, I'm watching from afar, seeing the interesting photos instead of seeing it in real life. All you needed was a tornado and you would have had Earth Wind and Fire this weekend. And no you did NOT need a tornado, LOL. Betsy

growing wild on waverly lane said...

Who said we all marry our parents? Not me. But my dad used to run around with flaming gas soaked rags on a pole to get at hornets and wasps. Blissfully he did not set the frame house on fire.

I came home from school in sixth grade to a new house. That was the first I heard of it.

Count your blessings.

Kay L. Davies said...

Sad to see the daffodils give way to something as mundane as corn. Sigh.
I'm familiar with controlled burns, however. A fact of life in many areas, that can make for some exciting photos, too.
Hi to your mom and dad.

Meg McCormick said...

I rue the loss of the daffodil field, but if they plant a few rows of sweet corn it could end up being a huge win for you...

Wild on Waverly Lane - I love your subtle sense of humor! I am sure I speak for others when I say that we'll all be waiting for the blog post about THAT particular story...

Anonymous said...

Gee, like your mom I remember men with flaming, gas soaked rags on poles,too. Must be a testosterone kind of thing..more primal than a barbecue. I say the family should look into buying a fire proof suit for CB father,(but I already know he would not wear it, if you did).
My first 7 yrs. I lived at my grandparents' home, which was next to a farm. No corn or daffodils there, but periodically a horse would escape through the back fence, and come galloping wildly through our yard. Rather a surreal event for a child who is on the ground, building fairy shelters with twigs and moss roofs. Did not have a cell phone to capture that in those days...
So sorry again to see that huge field plowed under...glad at least it isn't apartment houses going in there.

Daryl said...

soon as i read the title of the post i knew your dad was up to his old tricks … and i am ever so sorry about the loss of the daffy