Set The Bed On Fire

The flower bed, that is.

One of my favorite singers is Teddy Swims, and one of my favorite songs of his is “Bed On Fire.” It’s a deep, thick verse, full of metaphorically worded gut-wrenching prose. I’m in awe of the simplicity of the poetry and the juxtaposition of its drag through the emotions.

But that’s not what this post is about.

No, this one is about the flower beds, though if you use your imagination and squint real hard, you’ll see when it’s over how the story and the song correlate. Hold on for the ride. It’s a doozy.

Now, I’ve been told not to post this, so this little bedtime story may not ever see the light of day, (and I use the term bedtime story quite literally, as you will also come to see) but I’ve got to get it on paper so I don’t forget it. Not that I could. It’s pretty epic.

So you may have read in my previous posts that we have a big Pig Party each year and invite the neighbors and friends and business associates and such. (If not, it would be worth your time to go read “Party Animals,” May 2023) Usually around 60 people pile into The Barracks for brisket and roasted pig and all the fixins. This year was no different, and everybody had a lovely time. Now, to cook the pig, The Lawyer has a La Caja China roasting box that is the above-ground equivalent of digging a hole and cooking it in the ground with banana leaves and coals on top. This method beats the heck out of tearing up the yard and having to grow banana plants. You simply put the pig in the box, put the lid on it, and put the coals on top of the lid. The heat radiates down and cooks the sow. It takes about 4-5 hours, depending on the size of the pig, and you have to add to and replace the coals a few times, but over-all it’s pretty dang easy.

But then when you’re done, you have to dispose of the coals to be able to take the lid off. And this is where the bedtime story heats up, so to speak.

The Lawyer and his BFF, Rodney, were on pig duty this year while Abby and I were running the last minute errands and prepping the house. When it was time to remove the coals and take the pig out, the guys, in all their infinite wisdom, put the coals in our old metal wheelbarrow. A much better choice than dumping them on the driveway like one of them suggested. (I won’t mention any names (coughjosephcough)) The coals were safely out of the way, the pig was beautifully cooked on the inside, crispy on the outside, just as it should be.

The Pig Party was a roaring success. All was well with the world.

When the Pig Party was completed, the clean-up was, as well. For the most part. There were a few things left here and there so they could dry or cool down or not catch things on fire, but we had all day Sunday to complete the task. So that’s what we did. Got brunch on Sunday, took a nap, (pig parties ain’t for the weak) and commenced the final clean sweep.  Got it done fairly swiftly and back to bed we went. “Netflix and Chill” was calling our name. Unfortunately in all the clean-up chaos the day before, someone had dumped the coals on the edge of the flower bed, on top of fresh pine straw, unnoticed, left there to smoulder for a day or two. Which it did. Until the smoulder turned to, well, more than smoulder.

Slept like babies we did, and I awoke a few minutes later than usual Monday morning, but still with time for a hot cup of Joseph, I mean Joe, and a little sit on the back porch –  my favorite way to start the day. But this is where this coal burning train takes a turn.

I literally stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee and quickly realized I was, in fact, not firing on all cylinders. I felt run over, wrung out, and my eyeballs felt like they were swollen bigger than a googly-eyed goldfish. I was definitely on the struggle. So as I stood at the kitchen sink, trying to not be blinded by the beautiful sunlight streaming in, I swear I smelled bar-b-que.

But that made absolutely no sense. We had cooked day before yesterday, and yesterday the house didn’t smell like fire pit but today it does. I was overtaken by extreme confusion. I looked around, smelled the air, and then convinced myself that what I was smelling must’ve been something that The Lawyer brought inside from his cleaning spree, like maybe some used tin foil in the garbage can, or some things that hadn’t yet been washed. I don’t know, I was grasping for a usable answer. I came up with nothing, other than I needed to inhale, snort, and get an IV full of coffee. But while standing at the kitchen counter waiting ever so impatiently for my coffee to brew, I looked out the back window, across the yard, and suddenly was questioning any ounce of sanity I had remaining.

Three days ago we had the most gorgeous pine straw put in all our flower beds in preparation for the Pig Shindig. Fluffy, red-orange, perfectly placed pine straw. Now, our back yard is completely bordered by a twenty foot deep green space, and then backyard neighbors beyond that. You can kind of see that there are houses back there, but no details whatsoever; keep that in mind. The green space is a beautiful buffer, wild animal houser, wall of background for the flower bed that lines the entire back yard. And as a side note, I use the term “flower bed” loosely, as I have randomly planted things over the last few years and some of it has lived and some has not. When a poor plant is subjected to our yard, it’s sink or swim, fend for yourself, best of luck to ya, because you’re on your own. That’s just how it is. But the hydrangeas have done well, the amaryllis bulbs have thrived, and a few mini camellia plants have actually made the cut. Well done.  Anyhoo, the pine straw makes it all look like we know what we’re doing in the yard, and dresses it up like a teenager going to prom in an orange tux. What more could a girl ask for?

So back to the morning confusion. I would say “early morning confusion,” but we don’t do “early” at The Barracks. It’s now ten-after-seven. I get my cup of coffee and two biscotti (breakfast of champions) as per usual, and head to the back porch, where the birds and frogs and I have breakfast every morning that it’s above fifty-five degrees out. But I just stand there. Bewildered. Trying to figure out just what I’m looking at. Still nothing is registering. To say I’m perplexed is like saying the sky is blue, or grass is green – it just couldn’t be any more of an absolute. I stare at the flower bed in disbelief. There is no pine straw. No orange, no fluff, no yard tuxedo. Just black with patches of gray.

My coffee cup and I exit the back porch in confusion and walk toward the wall of nature, unsure of what has occured. I got within 2 feet of it and still had to rub my eyes. The pine straw was gone. Obliterated. Incinerated. Destroyed. Non-existent. Not there. Absent. Missing. G. O. N. E.

I look from there to my left and see that the obliteration has followed the path of the flower bed and seemingly put itself out when it ran out of straw and got to leaf litter, as the new catchphrase has so named. So I said to myself, “huh,” and went back to my porch and morning coffee. And, of course, started texting my sister. I mean, in the middle of a crisis who doesn’t text their sister???

Finished my breakfast of champions, started to wake up, then hit myself with a jolt. “I never looked to the right to see if the fire was out in that direction holy crap I need to go check.” So I hopped up a little more spryly than before and headed to the other side of the yard. Everything had a neatly sculpted path, and how the grass and green space didn’t shoot into flames is beyond me. So I followed the yellow brick, I mean black charred path down the side of the driveway, under the hedgerow of ligustrum and when I got to the end of the char, I nearly choked on my coffee. The embers were still red and trying to burn and flame. Now my coffee cup and I are scrambling for the water hose.

Mind you, I still have no idea how all this happened. I’m about half-cylindered at this point, and barely dressed, but have sense enough to know fires are not good when not in a fire place.

While my coffee cup and I are standing in the driveway directing water flow, I had a few moments to consider my next move. If I were home alone, I’d call the fire department, not to have them come put it out with the big truck, but rather to have the inspector general come assure me that the fire was out, because at this point, I’m doing pretty good as deputy fire chief. But, I’m not home alone, so I decide that it’s time to go in and get MY Inspector General – The Lawyer. At this point it’s 7:30 a.m. and I head in to wake him from his sweet slumber. Knowing there is no good way to say “hey wake up the yard burnt down last night,” I gingerly approach the bed and gently rub his shoulder as I sit beside him on the edge of the last few seconds of his comfort. “Wake up, Baby, I need to you be awake so you hear me.” He rolled over, bleary eyed. “You good and awake? Everything is fine, everybody is ok, but I need you to come make a judgement call for me. There was a little fire and I want you to make sure it’s out.” I may have under-embellished just a smidge. He bolted up, threw on some underwear, and out the door we went. He was as shocked as I. It’s quite the sight upon awakening. Takes a second to process.

We agreed that the danger was over but that we should soak the entire scene of the crime to be sure there would be no resurgence. So he grabbed a hose and went left, I grabbed a hose and went right. He hollered a few things across the yard to me, like, “you better not post this,” and, “do NOT tell your parents…”. I made no guarantees.

When I was pretty sure the right side was out, I realized I should probably crawl into the green space just to check damage and see how far deep the (un)controlled burn went. So in my pink fluffy memory foam flip flop bedroom shoes, I trapse into the wooded area. Holy moly. The burn went deep. The green space is divided almost evenly down the middle by a chicken wire fence, and our two backyard neighbors’ dividing fence is perpendicular to the chicken wire. The char was well into the left backyard neighbor’s, and we decided we should call them and have them come out and see. Problem is, I only know their names, not their number. But, this is Tallahassee and there is literally only one degree of separation between you and any other person in town, so I called my friend Cheri who is, in this instance, my one degree. The call went something like this: “Hi Sharon, good morning, how are you?” “I’m good Cheri, hope you’re well, listen we’ve set Jai’s yard on fire, don’t have time to explain now, can I have her number, please?” (Cheri may have let out a shocked little giggle at this point) But she’s the kind of friend who doesn’t ask questions, she just complies because she hears the urgency in your voice and knows she’ll get the full story later. So we hung up and she immediately texted me Jai’s number. So I called Jai, and that call went something like this: “Hi Jai, this is Sharon Brooks, your backyard neighbor. How are you this morning?” “Oh, hi Sharon! I’m good how are you?” “Oh, I’m fine. Um, listen, are you home this morning?” “I am, what can I do for you?” “Well, I’m gonna need you to come meet me in the green space, we kinda scorched the earth.” “Oh, well, let me get dressed, I’ll be right out.”

I mean, how really does one ask someone to come out and see that their yard has been on fire?!

In the mean time, I realized I probably need to get over the wire de chicken and help with our hose, just to be sure. Now look, in all of America there is not one single chicken wire fence in the woods that is completely intact, standing upright, doesn’t have a tree on it, isn’t bent, mangled or otherwise easy to step over – except in our back yard woods. Lord help. So over it I and the pink flip flop bedroom shoes went. Climbed over the fence next to a tree for leverage, not my first rodeo, but definitely my first rodeo in fluffy pink slippers. Got the hose over and started to water it all down with Jai. Jai’s husband came out, too. Turns out they had just recently had a conversation about clearing out some of the green space so the leggy azaleas tucked in there could flourish. Well, as I like to say,  “Glad I could help.”

Then, as we were watering and chatting like this was the most normal thing ever, I realized things weren’t exactly peachy. The property line between Jai and our other backyard neighbor has a wooden privacy fence. Or, should I say, had.

As I really started paying attention to the char, I realized the wooden slats from the chicken wire border forward were as follows: charred at the bottom, charred at the bottom, charred higher than the bottom, missing, missing, pine tree, fire at the bottom of the pine tree, smoke coming from the pine tree, missing, lying on the ground burnt, missing, charred at the bottom, charred at the bottom……

So I causally said, “Jai, do you know your next door neighbors?” She laughed and replied, “I know just their first names. I have them saved in my phone as “James the neighbor” and “Irene the neighbor,” and she laughed. To which I replied, “well, I have Wayne the weed guy, so I feel ya. so, I’m gonna need you to call James the neighbor and ask him to come join this little party. Seems as though I’ve scorched his earth, too.”

Yeah, “James the Neighbor” has a wooden playground set and a-framed swing in this very particular back corner. The fire stopped about six inches short of the playhouse, but got the back corner of the swing frame. But the grace of God that it put itself out and didn’t set their entire back yard on fire.

So Jai, almost too joyfully, because as it turns out she’s one of the most joyful people on the planet, called Irene the Neighbor who wasn’t home, who called James the Neighbor to send him out because he was, in fact, still home. Super nice guy, totally cool with everything, grabbed his hose, too, and commenced checking things out from his side of the wire de chicken and now-charred-and-some-pieces-missing side of the property. “Hi James, I’m Sharon and this is my husband Joseph. So sorry we scorched your earth, hate to meet you like this. So sorry!” He laughed and said no big deal and assured us it was ok. The playsets were there when they moved in, so they weren’t attached to them, and nothing burned down anyway, so no harm. Then it dawned on me….they have dogs who now no longer have containment. Yikes. I brought it up and he assured me it wouldn’t be a problem. “My dogs are chickens. They won’t go anywhere.” Jai even laughed and said, “yeah, his dogs are fine.” Whew. Dodged a bite on that one.

Which brought me to my next point with James the Neighbor. “Hey James, been wondering but never had the opportunity to ask. When your dogs are in your backyard, and we come out of our garage, the black and white one comes running and barking, but as soon as I speak to him, the barking stops and the tail wagging commences. So, does your dog want to eat me or play?” James laughed. “Definitely play. They’re sweet dogs. Just excited to see a friend. The female won’t even come near to you.” Which I did confirm. She’s a BIG chicken. But the boy is a sweety and comes to say hi. Good to know he doesn’t want to have me as a Scooby snack.

But off that rabbit trail and back to the trail of destruction.

We all watered until we were all satisfied that the danger was completely squelched, and Jai and spouse, and James the Neighbor all went indoors. By this time The Lawyer had to go inside to prep for a zoom board meeting at 9:30, but I decided to water the earth a little longer. You know…..just to be sure.

So water I did. Until the last minute. I had run in at some point and cancelled my first two clients, but needed to be at work by 10:45, which meant I needed to stop watering by 9:40, which is right about now, so I did. Ugh. I probably would have watered all dang day if I hadn’t had to go to work. So inside I headed, but I was gross. Pants were soaking wet and covered in black soot from the knees down, and my bedroom shoes were unsalvageable.

Soaking wet, coated in an inch of ash, I took them off in the driveway and chunked them straight into the trashcan. Oh. Speaking of the trash can, it sits on the edge of the driveway right next to the apex of the fire. The back of the trashcan is now melted. So there’s that.

But back to my trek to the great indoors. Now shoeless, I didn’t want to go in the house wearing dripping wet sooty pants that would drag the floor and make a mess. So……I closed the garage door so no one could see me, (sometimes I do have a slight level of decorum), stripped off the nastiness, and headed in. But THANK THE GOOD LORD ABOVE I STOPPED MYSELF! You see, JUST inside that door was The Lawyer, sitting there handling Board business, with the zoom camera FACING THE DOOR I WAS ABOUT TO WALK THROUGH WITH NO PANTS ON. Oh, and did I happen to mention I also had on NO unmentionables?!?!?! Yeah, there was THAT. come on, don’t act so shocked, remember I had just rolled out of bed before all these shenanigans started …..

I cracked the door ever-so-slightly and screamwhispered, “Joseph. JOSEPH.” He turned his head my direction, to which I hollerwhispered, “block your camera!” He was perplexed and let out a “what?!” To which I FIRMLYwhispered, “Block. Your. Camera.”

Now, just so you understand, The Lawyer and I have an understanding. We trust each other completely, so if one of us says something with an adamancy, we do as told and ask questions later, no questions asked. So he dilutifully complied. And as he leeeeand to his left to block the camera, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled into the house on all fours as fast as I could and didn’t rise till I got into the kitchen behind the counter where it was safe….just in case.  The Lawyer looked at me with total surprise and perplexion and may have blurted out, “what the +*$# are you doing?!?!?!” I just laughed, wrung the water from my pants into the sink, and headed off to get cleaned up for work. At this point there was really no point in trying to explain anything. At all.

The yard was doused, everybody had been informed, and all was ,once again, well with the world. A couple days later The Lawyer headed out on his weekly business trip and I was home alone doing what I love best in the evening hours – sitting on the back porch listening to crickets and frogs and contemplating all things. As I gazed upon the lack of pine straw I began thinking about the entire process again. What did it look like? How long did it take? How high were the flames? Etc, etc. One thing was for sure, the flames were high and hot, as the wall of the green space was now looking quite, well, I’m not sure how to describe it. The bushes absolutely did not catch on fire, but moreso they were completely dehydrated, parched, and now turning brown.

All leaves me with great wonder. My last thought before my brain synapse actually fired successfully was, “I do wish I had some way to see how and when and for how long this happened.”

And then it hit me.

We have a back porch camera.

The back porch camera only faces the porch, it really doesn’t get any of the yard, save for the top right corner of the screen – a teeny little bit of the flower bed is visible. Bingo. I’ll pull up the footage and take a look, after all, it’s only been a couple days and the camera saves footage for three or four days, right? So I pulled it up, and blessed behold, as Reva would say, there it was. Well, kind of. I started scrubbing through at about the 1 a.m. spot and by 1:30 you could see the fire had begun. The porch was dark, and then suddenly it looked as though someone had turned on the lights. As I continued to scrub through, the porch got brighter and the furniture created shadows on the wall. As time passes, the shadows move as the fire works its way around the back, and then as it reaches its end you can actually see it in the top right corner of the screen. It’s one of the eeriest things I’ve ever watched. And what made it all the more heart-stopping is that it lasted four-and-a-half hours. I was completely stunned. What we were sure had lasted less than half an hour lasted half the night, and had just put itself out less than forty-five minutes before I got to the porch. I was rattled all over again. It was a good bit to process.

So we’ve lessons learned, jokes made, new pine straw bought and installed, and all is, once again, well with the world. But the most important part of this bed-on-fire, lasted half the night bedtime story? The chicken survived.