We inherited a burn pile a year and a half ago.

It came fully mature; already ensconced on the property we purchased–no extra charge. It was every bit of four feet tall and eight feet around.

Made up almost entirely of broken oak branches and deceased leaves, it had been left to its own devices for quite a while. It was drier than a Bob Newhart monologue and already big enough to make it worth your while to set it on fire.

As the days passed, it continued to grow because we continued to feed it–endless ropes of thorny briar vines, whole mesquite trees, assorted weeds and more broken tree limbs. “Just throw it on the burn pile!” became the default answer to most disposal questions.

Weekend after weekend passed without burning this expanding heap. Sometimes there was a burn ban in effect. Sometimes it was raining. Days that were too windy also meant the brush pile would survive for another day.

At last, the spirit of Goldilocks descended, and the perfect Saturday to burn arrived. A permit was obtained and one of the offspring was enlisted to help. Three straw brooms were purchased and pails of water were set around the fire pit. There were also three fire extinguishers and a couple of shovels, just in case.

At this point, the burn pile was huge. It was easily 12 feet high and 20 feet in diameter. I believe it was no longer “burn pile” size. No, it was definitely in the “bonfire” category.

A celebratory sprinkling of lighter fluid was dispensed, and at long last, the fire was lit.

Not much happened at first.

I had enough time to say, “We may need more lighter fluid….” And then–whoosh! My hair was sucked upwards and all that dead, dry wood ignited. Flames engulfed the whole heap seemingly at once and the satisfaction of accomplishment combined with the thrill of danger. Serious smoke was visible for miles, and an understandably concerned neighbor called the volunteer fire department.

My husband, the offspring, and I were standing around admiring the inferno and joking about how we were having our own little Burning Man event when we heard distant sirens.

“Do you think those are for us?”

The sirens got closer, and sure enough, several fire trucks turned in our driveway. At first, we were mortified that we’d taken them away from any real potential emergencies, but all the firefighters couldn’t have been more gracious.

The chief said that they’d gotten the call reporting our fire, and he’d stepped out the door of the mess hall to the sight of flames leaping high above the trees–our fire was that visible, even to the firehouse three miles away. He decided the crew had better respond, so they all headed out.

By the time they got to us, the initial towering fiery vortex had died way down, and Butch took everyone to show them the house construction in progress and pass out water.

One of the firefighters told the offspring that he should come by the firehall sometime and see about helping out at the VFD. The offspring was flattered and delighted.

All in all, it was a great day.