FIRE, Water & Tumbleweeds
At the ripe old age of 23 I found myself newly divorced, mother of three young kids and the proud sole
owner of a "handy-man's farm". The next few years were spent teaching a city-girl like myself what it really
means (and doesn't mean) to farm while raising a family and growing up. Family and friends who
endured my crazy existence during that time have spent the past decade encouraging me to write about
my experiences. In hindsight it really was quite humorous. Here is one such "experience."
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I was a farmer of tumbleweeds and all things fast-growing and unhelpful. I resigned myself to that but
periodically went through a bout of needing to clear the land. This partially had to do with the visual impact
of an acre of dead weeds and partially because I honestly feared for my life in my tinderbox of a home
ringed by fields of dead fire fodder.
Alone for the weekend, I decided to rake and burn. Initially it seemed like a good idea. There was no wind
that day and the tumbleweeds were especially dry after several weeks of no rain.
The morning passed slowly as I raked up distributed piles of tumbleweeds. The hot, dusty work quickly
made me a little less jovial about my impending weed cleansing and increasingly morose at my inability
to farm anything that I didn't have to burn. Early afternoon found me chewing dirt with a face spattered with
mud and bits of dead weeds.
Finally I knew it was time to burn. Job preparation began the natural way: I soaked a section of dry
tumbleweeds with lighter fluid and stepped back. I licked the dirt ceremoniously off of one finger and
stuck it in the air to gauge wind (none) and rain (also, none).
Bending forward, I used a match to bring fire to a single stick. True to form it burned for a moment and
then fizzled out. Undaunted I grabbed the can of lighter fluid and emptied the remaining contents on the
section of brambles. I resumed flicking matches at the brambles, noting that the sky was a hot, whitish
blue without a breath of wind anywhere. My hose lay snaked at my side feeding a pool of water (and
therefore mud) around my feet.
I rocked back on my heels, smiling with accomplishment as a small twig caught fire and crackled with
new life. I stood, proudly stretched as the fire sputtered and prepared to feed the little fire with more
weeds from surrounding piles. I was in control. Fire and water successfully harnessed, I would conquer
my property. At the end of the day tumbleweeds would no longer plague my life and land.
Things went sideways fast. One moment I was in complete control of my destiny and the next minute I
was victim to my own accomplishments. A lone gust of wind raced down the canyon at a healthy pace. At
the same moment my hose quit producing water and the tiny little circle of fire roared to life. Wisps of
flame became a wall of living, moving fire. Flaming tumbleweeds shot off in every direction igniting nearby
piles. Twelve foot flames roared and careened into the air. I stood in complete shock and my rake fell to
my side. "Holy hell!"
My neighbors took stock of their lives and possessions (which I'm sure they did on a regular basis with
me next door). The tiny flames that had crackled away in peaceful bliss became a roaring fire that raced
across an acre of dry weeds and brush in record time. A miracle rainstorm was all I could hope for to
replace the limp snake my hose had become.
As quickly as it began it was gone. The gust of wind ceased and a spout of water erupted from the hose.
The pile of tumbleweeds was gone as were my eyebrows and bangs. I stared wide-eyed through a face
black with soot at the pile of ash fizzling at my feet.
A wild giggle started deep down in my throat and ticked its way upward, erupting from my mouth in a wild
gasp. The giggles continued, confirming my neighbors’ suspicions about my lack of sanity. My blackened
face and smoking tufts of hair made me guffaw even more and soon tears poured down my sooty cheeks.
I couldn't believe how close I had come to burning my entire farm all because the only thing I could grow
was fire fodder. I turned and began the muddy passage to my house already scheming another solution
for my growing tendencies. Soon I found my new lot in life, goat-they eat tumbleweeds-farmer. But that’s
another story.