The Burn Barrel
Today I am grateful for conversations yesterday with my stepson Arthur and my friend Sheila. Thanks to you both! I am also grateful for memories of growing up on a farm.
One such memory involves having a burn barrel. I was thinking about it the other day when Sam and I were burning some branches in our fire pit. We always end up with branches down after thunderstorms with any amount of wind, but we have also had some tree-trimming crews in our neighborhood trimming branches near power lines. They are usually pretty good about cleaning up what they cut, but a small pile got left behind, so Sam was sawing that up and we were burning that too.
Growing up, we had a burn barrel in our cow yard, not too far from the house, but through a gate/fence. It was a metal barrel about four to five feet high. Food scraps went to the cats and dogs or on the gardens for fertilizer. Metal and glass were reused whenever there was a use for them. (Think old glass peanut butter or jelly jars.) If not, they went on the junk pile in a ravine on the farm. This was before communities had recycling programs and before plastic was as prevalent as it is today. Anything else went into the wastebaskets and eventually to the burn barrel. It was mostly paper-type products, things that would burn pretty easily.
(On a side note, there were cow chips available, but we didn't burn them. We did occasionally throw them at each other, however. If you don't know what a cow chip is, it's a dried cow pie. If you don't know what a cow pie is, look it up.)
Wastebaskets were emptied and a book of matches would come out. A strike or two and the fire would get started. I recall it felt like a rite of passage when I was old enough to be the one starting the fire with the matches.
But we learned respect for fire and the power of fire too. It was fascinating to watch the fire take hold in the barrel, but also a reminder of that power and danger. There were minor mishaps with burns, but nothing major. What was more major at times was probably the "discussion" about who got to light the fire.
Pleasant memories. To be appreciated. To be relived. To remind us of our younger days.
One such memory involves having a burn barrel. I was thinking about it the other day when Sam and I were burning some branches in our fire pit. We always end up with branches down after thunderstorms with any amount of wind, but we have also had some tree-trimming crews in our neighborhood trimming branches near power lines. They are usually pretty good about cleaning up what they cut, but a small pile got left behind, so Sam was sawing that up and we were burning that too.
Growing up, we had a burn barrel in our cow yard, not too far from the house, but through a gate/fence. It was a metal barrel about four to five feet high. Food scraps went to the cats and dogs or on the gardens for fertilizer. Metal and glass were reused whenever there was a use for them. (Think old glass peanut butter or jelly jars.) If not, they went on the junk pile in a ravine on the farm. This was before communities had recycling programs and before plastic was as prevalent as it is today. Anything else went into the wastebaskets and eventually to the burn barrel. It was mostly paper-type products, things that would burn pretty easily.
(On a side note, there were cow chips available, but we didn't burn them. We did occasionally throw them at each other, however. If you don't know what a cow chip is, it's a dried cow pie. If you don't know what a cow pie is, look it up.)
Wastebaskets were emptied and a book of matches would come out. A strike or two and the fire would get started. I recall it felt like a rite of passage when I was old enough to be the one starting the fire with the matches.
But we learned respect for fire and the power of fire too. It was fascinating to watch the fire take hold in the barrel, but also a reminder of that power and danger. There were minor mishaps with burns, but nothing major. What was more major at times was probably the "discussion" about who got to light the fire.
Pleasant memories. To be appreciated. To be relived. To remind us of our younger days.
Who would have thought a burn barrel and cow chips would be a reason for a lot of good memories, but they are!
ReplyDeleteI'm just surprised we didn't have our own cow chip throwing contests. We had enough kids and cow chips. I guess we were too busy doing chores. :-) Thanks for commenting Zita!
ReplyDelete