As darkness drew nigh, Foxinator suggested we split up. “You go clear that area near the mailbox and start working your way down here along the black line. We’ll keep inching the line past your house.”
Good thinking! I trudged to the entire other side of the field and started burning cautious strips of the field proper.
It was a regular cycle.
1. I’ll just touch off this little strip of grass.
2. That’s no biggie. I’ll do a little more over here.
3. Aaaauauuuuughhh!
4. OK whew, it’s all died down again. I really should switch to decaf.
5. Return to step 1.
A half hour later I looked over to where I’d left Foxinator. A 200 yard line of waist high flames obscured half of the horizon.
“Well, I thought, “Either she lost it or she’s getting the job done now that the biggest ninny is out of the way.” It was definitely the latter.
Since Foxinator and her crew was running amok on her side, my only job was to make sure no place got missed. I zipped back and forth lighting stuff. Especially in the “furrows” that had grown into a matted mess. That took some work. Some burned hot. Others wouldn’t carry fire.
Eventually my carefully managed, hard won, carefully lit, nearly straight fireline backed into the Foxinator’s patchy wavering headfire. Both died out flawlessly. It hadn’t burned much better on my highly managed side than her, chill out and watch it, side. She wins!
Foxinator and crew adjourned for (late) dinner. I stayed and circled the fire a dozen times lest some spark explode into an inferno… which was unlikely and didn’t happen.
I have resolved to make darned sure I’ve got a better fireline next time. I want a 5′ bare dirt circumference. Paved. With hydrants. Manned by an Army. Then I can burn it properly as Foxinator did instead of dinking around like a little pansy.
Later, Foxinator asked when I was going to plow the field. I admitted that my tractor can handle cultivated soil but probably not sod, even though we’d burned off the thatch. She offered that I could borrow her tractor. I nearly fell out of my chair trying to thank her.
More to come.
A.C.
