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Lighting the Fire
October 15, 2005
Over the course of a summer, we accumulate a brush pile in our attempts to clear/clean various parts of the pasture and woods, trying to stay one step ahead of encroaching blackberry vines and other less than welcome growing things. Hauling the brush to the brush pile is a whole job in itself, and throwing the stuff on the pile gets more difficult as it grows taller and wider. Soon we will light our seasonal bonfire, reducing the accumulation to ashes, and wait to start the process again next summer.
There are now legal restrictions on how large a fire can be without a special permit, otherwise there is a "friendly" visit from the fire district volunteers and a hefty fine to pay. Back on the farm of my youth, my father would build several huge brush piles over the course of the summer, and would burn them simultaneously, taking all day, and often part of the night to supervise the fires and make sure they did not stray beyond their intended boundaries. This was a highly anticipated autumn event for us children, as we would help to "feed" the fire and help tend its borders, staying up late with our father until he felt it was safe to return to the house.
There is something very primeval about a fire in the open. There is a constant sense of it being able to rage out of control through flying embers and sparks and the heat can be literally blistering. It also is protective against the cold of autumn nights and we huddle as near as we can without feeling we will catch on fire as well. Thirty years ago I remember flying over the continent of Africa from Europe at night, on my way to Tanzania, and throughout the night I would spot fires on the ground, the site of remote villages using the fire as protection and safety where no electricity existed or would exist for decades to come.
Fire is not always a source of solace and warmth. Today, in the news, a government health official compared the initial start of a potential pandemic of influenza virus as a "spark" that could ignite an uncontrolled burn if not monitored and stamped out immediately. This metaphor makes sense as one watches the sparks fly from a bonfire, sometimes dissipating in the air, and other times landing and lighting new fires. It can be beyond our ability to control in a flash.
There are always fires in our lives, sometimes leaving behind devastation and ruin, or perhaps refining and cleaning up our messes. Like the brush pile, we need to discard much in our lives that obstruct and bar our progress, or that which has been a source of pain and suffering. Gathering it up, piling it high and lighting it is sometimes the only way to be free of it. Yet that fire needs monitoring, or it will burn out of control and all will end up worse than before. There is a fine line between leaving horrific scars and leaving things clean and smooth and open.
It is natural to fear the fire one feels encroaching too close, knowing that what it leaves behind will look nothing like what existed before. So we stand with our water hoses and our protective equipment, waiting and wondering if it will be sufficient in the end. If we prepare, we will be ready.
Emily
http://www.briarcroft.com/emily.htm