A Day to Remember

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Memorial Day is a somber holiday, reserved for the living to remember the dead.  Over the centuries, millions of men and women have answered the call to duty and made that great sacrifice.  I thank them and wish them eternal peace.

Memorial Day is also one of my favorite holidays.  I feel I owe it to that long line of patriots to wring as much enjoyment out of the fruits of their sacrifice as practical.  I believe that is a good way to honor them.

With this in mind, I invited friends and neighbors to join me on that special day.  Then, I got busy buying meat.  This year, I selected the traditional beef brisket and added a couple slabs of spare ribs for variety.  Okay, I bought the potato salad and Cole Slaw at the deli or assembled them from purpose made parts.  Sue me.  It was still a feast of the first order.  There was strong drink and a Strawberry aperitif, not to mention four hours or so of storytelling.  I loved it.  Gee, I hope my guests enjoyed our time as much as I did.

The festivities kicked off at 3:00pm and went full tilt until almost dark; say 9:00pm.  Then, holding our stomachs off the floor with our hands, we began to call it a night.  In a few minutes, everyone was gone.  Except for the mile high pile of dishes and a few pounds of leftovers, you could hardly tell there had been a party at all.

I turned off the porch light and headed to bed.  Plopping onto my bunk like a stuffed bear, I stared at the ceiling, waiting for my tummy to rejoin the rest of my body. 

I lay on the edge of sleep for a long while before I heard “Ding dong!”

“What the pf… “  I began.

“Ding dong!”  The bell repeated.

In a food-sleep-induced stupor, I rolled out of bed and stumbled downstairs to the front door.  A dark figure waited for me.  I was wearing my crabbiest face as I threw it open.  You know, it is the one with only one eye open and slobber running down my chin.

“Hey, Hank!”  Mike said.  “Are you still smokin’ meat?”

It was Michael, my neighbor.  He had left only an hour before and I puzzled over what he wanted.

“No.  I went to bed.”  I mumbled.

“Well, I was out on my patio smoking a cigar and relaxing after the feast when I noticed your backyard filled with smoke.  That’s not unusual, if you’re  cookin’ meat.  Then, I began to see the flames down near the creek.  I think maybe your backyard is on fire.”

“Fire?  Where?”  I responded opening the other eye.

Mike jogged through my house and I went with him until we reached the back door.  Throwing it open, I noticed there seemed to be a pea souper of a London fog in my yard.  Michael pointed toward the creek and down low.  There, beneath the Holly plants an angry red flame crawled north along the edge of the creek.

Without a word, we ran for the garden hose reel in the back yard.  I had 100 feet of hose and I prayed the fire was within range.  Michael peeled hose from the reel as I frantically pulled the slack over the fence near the house and into the “back forty” section of the property.  After paying out the entire length of hose, I grabbed the open end and ran.  Meanwhile Mike turned the water hydrant to the full open position.

“Please God; let this hose reach the fire in time, okay?”

As I ran, the hose began to sputter and burp water toward the fire.  I hoped the delivery would speed up before I arrived in the actual flames.  Already, I had a choking sensation from “eating smoke” and the fire seemed to grow, as I got closer.  My eyes were burning too; bless them.

When I saw the scope of the problem up close, I swallowed hard.  The fire was about 60 feet long and 10 to 15 feet wide.  “Not a good sign,” I thought wryly.

Then the water arrived.

Did you know that an established wild fire would not necessarily go out just because someone sprays water on it?  No, apparently, fire can burn inside a log or railroad tie, happy as a clam, while some desperate fool waters the outside of the fuel.  That is why it took more than half an hour to kill the flames.  Then, we spent another 30 minutes spraying for good measure.  When all seemed cold and dead, Michael told me he would keep an eye on my yard from his patio until he went to bed.  I stood around a bit longer, just to be certain.

The apparent cause of the blaze was a bucket of presumably dead ash I emptied earlier in the day.  Not all the ashes were as defunct as I thought the little troublemakers to be.

Henceforth, I shall have a better plan for dead ashes.  I plan to start dumping them in my yard, right next to the hose reel.

On the good side, this is one Memorial Day I shall remember for many decades to come.  After all, how many of us end our holiday standing in their back yard, blackened by smoke and soot and wearing only their jammies?  I felt lucky to be there. 

 Hope you had a memorable Memorial Day, too!

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