Snow Falling on Cinders
In Montana, April is a very good month to get to the burn pile. Last years accumulation of trimmed branches, dug up roots and broken fencing have dried in their stack through the summer heat, blustery dry fall and has just emerged from a glacial winter. We have had the gamut thrown at us this week of April. Three inches of snow followed by brilliant sunshine and mid sixties, during which Richard sustained his first sunburn of the year, thunderstorms, hail, wind, rain with sun, frost, and now it is snowing again. Large fluffy flakes fizzle into the red hot charcoal; all that is left of today’s bonfire.
Bluebells, crocuses and daffodils are bowing down their snow covered heads and waiting for the sudden spring storm to pass. The Sandhill cranes shift from one leg to another as the snow settles around them and I can imagine one of them saying, “I said we should have stayed in New Mexico another two weeks!” Eager magpies (“one for sorrow, two for joy”) settle in their chokecherry tree, every now and then ruffling out their astounding plumage as they assess the unruly nest-in-progress rimmed with settling snow. Out of the fire’s haze a gurgling trill sounds as the crane couple takes flight across the now white cattle pasture to continue their disagreement elsewhere.
April is the safest month to burn, but nevertheless great care is needed and it pays to wait for damp ground. The Stillwater County News police blotter has noted several burn piles gone wild due to sudden, crazy wind conditions that transport embers into the cotton woods or into nearby patches of dead grass, requiring the help of the fire department and attracting unexpected excitement from the neighbors.
As we drive into town, the air is fragrant with lingering burn pile smoke. It seems that everyone is at it. All that will remain is a circle of blackened ground ready to receive the windfalls and trimmings of another year out at the ranch.
Virginia has been a wanderer her whole life. She is seldom lost however and has made an art out of plunging her roots deeply into whatever soil she finds herself. She is usually in the good company of her husband of 35 years.
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Virginia Cross
Virginia has been a wanderer her whole life. She is seldom lost however and has made an art out of plunging her roots deeply into whatever soil she finds herself. She is usually in the good company of her husband of 35 years.
