Autumn . . . .Uh, I Mean Summer in Zambia

Checking the electrical wires

Winter is over here in Zambia and it's time to burn brush. For several months now the leaves have fallen from the bougainvillea, custard apple, and guava trees. When he trims hedges and limbs, Charles, our helper, also drags the debris to the dambo, or swamp.

Since the brush pile was near the electrical wires Charles pushed it back. Tracy still needed to check whether it was far enough away as he didn't want any power outages in the area. Power was out a couple of years ago for about 24   hours because a woman built a fire directly below an electrical pole~not real smart. 

Everything's pretty dry right now as we haven't had rain since June, so Charles and Tracy watered the area, adding the neighbor's hose to ours for extra length. As I watched the blaze begin I couldn't help wondering what was going to crawl out from under the pile. Just this morning some of the neighbor boys showed me a cobra they had killed yesterday.Thankfully, nothing slithered out today!

The fire quickly spread gobbling up the wood and throwing flames into the air. I was certain the founder's wife, Mrs. Dil, would be down to make sure the dambo was safe as it is a sanctuary for birds and wildlife. Some years back some orphanage boys set fire to the swamp, which displeased her. The dambo would probably do better, however, if the underbrush was burned off.

After about thirty minutes of burning, the flames died down, giving way to smoke. The electrical wires were preserved. For the next thirty minutes Charles watched the smoldering fire so it wouldn't flare back up.  

As I watched the brush burn I couldn't help but think about autumn in Illinois~at least when it was legal to burn leaves. Mmmm, the smell of smoke and the feel of the crisp, cool air. Made me also think about roasting marshmallows. Tonight I just might pull out a packet of Alpine apple cider from my stash. Wanna join me?

James Whitcomb Riley said it best when he penned, When The Frost Is On The Punkin. [I think my children probably still have this poem memorized~I'm convinced Micah does!]

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.