We had our first fire in the fireplace this fall a couple of weekends ago and, combined with the Christmas season, it brought back memories of two Christmases I associate with fire - both with kind of a humorous twist to them.
The first has to do with outdoor burning, a dry pasture and a windy south Georgia Christmas Eve afternoon. (You're already way ahead of me, aren't you?)
I grew up during a time when it was legal to burn your household garbage and trash outside your home. We had a 55-gallon steel drum that we used. It was located on the very back of our lot in a rural area of Colquitt County, Georgia. There were other houses on either side of ours but to the rear of the row of houses was a pasture.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon sometime in the late 1950s, I think, and mother decided the garbage needed taking out and burning. My brother and I had the job of hauling the stuff to the drum. Mother would do the actual burning.
Everything went fine until some rather large pieces of hot ash began drifting heavenward, got caught in the swirling wind and headed downward, landing in the dry grass and underbrush that covered the pasture. Swoosh! It suddenly caught fire and, fanned by those strong winds, quickly spread. Someone called the fire department and the trucks soon arrived and the firemen quickly doused the flames. No one was hurt and no livestock in the pasture was harmed (most having taken refuge in a pond that in the pasture), but most of the pasture was charred down to the dirt.
Mother, of course, was shaken by what happened but for me and my brother, it was a bit of excitement and, in our own twisted juvenile sort of way, fun. It also, for a couple of hours, took our minds off the clock (which, of
course, seemingly to us, was so slow in ticking toward Christmas Eve and the arrival of Santa).
The other Christmastime/fire event had occurred a few years earlier, it, too, forever etched in my mind.
Our family had gathered with a number of relatives one night around Christmas for our own fireworks display (that was when the fireworks were legal in Georgia), roast marsh mellows , sing Christmas songs, etc. around a
big fire. Adults and children alike participated.
All was going well until one of my uncles dropped a large hot coal from the tip of a burning stick he was using to light a cigarette into a bag of fireworks. That bag contain a variety of fireworks - from sparklers, mini-firecrackers (baby firecrackers, we called them), regular-size
firecrackers, TNT Bombs (big and loud fireworks), Cherry Bombs (big and loud, too), Roman Candles, Whistlers (fireworks that would zoom around, just off the ground), etc.
Well, needless to say, it soon sounded like the Battle of Atlanta all over again.
Everything in that bag began to explode, sending kids and grown-ups alike scurrying for shelter. No one was hurt and when it was all over, we all got a good laugh out of it. Most of our fireworks were gone, though, and the
marsh mellows trampled by the scattering multitudes.
Merry Christmas!
Thursday
October 10th, 2024
2:21AM
