Our Albion

Since we were in the garden, putting the chickens away after the fox incident, KB took the opportunity to rake up the leaves. Normally KB is a responsible and conscientious person, but occasionally the freedom of owning our own home goes to her head. This time she decided to burn off the leaves.

For Guy Fawkes night, I had a built a very nice fireplace from the pile of spare pavers at the back of the lawn. It was an elegant semi-circular fire pit – the perfect size for a garden load of fallen leaves and a couple of sheets of newspaper to get things started.

I have fond memories of Autumnal Sunday evenings when Mr O’Connell would rake the leaves of his liquidamber into a pile and set fire to them in the gutter. A trickle of smoke would meander out of the leaves and up into the sky, while he and Dad and Luca from next-door would stand around, or sit in the gutter, chatting and maybe having a beer. It was a delightful Sunday evening ritual, where us boys would light sticks and chase eachother with them, or pour flammable liquids on the road and puzzle about why they didn’t ignite and form trails of flame as we thought they should.

Our pile of leaves began the same way – a sheet of newspaper scrunched into a ball, a flame, a little trickle of smoke meandering heavenwards, the rich smell of tree sap and slightly green leaves smouldering.

The trickle became a torrent. White smoke streamed heavenwards. Then white smoke streamed towards the house. I closed the kitchen door. Then white smoke streamed over the back fence. Then a back draft pushed the smoke down into the garden in a kind of reverse-mushroom cloud.

I was marvelling at how romantic and New England everything looked – the misty smoke sitting low over the fences, the evening light, the smouldering embers of burned leaves, the smoke filtering its way through my cardigan, creating a smell of Sunday Afternoon that I could carry with me into the evening, when I heard a sound.

“Helloooo?”

I looked around, but didn’t see anybody. It seemed to be coming from over the back fence. I turned back to the fire, surrounded by smoke and hypnotised by the glowing embers.

“Helloooooo?!”

I looked around again. A red jacket rose above the fence line, looming through the smoke. A head appeared above the jacket.

“Helloo. It is very smoky. No?” said our German (or possibly Dutch) accented neighbour from over the back fence. We had not met her before, and she is the person who may have to be consulted before we build our shed. I debated whether to turn on the charm and introduce myself:

• Pro – it might diffuse the immediate situation if I introduce myself and offer my hand for a handshake
• Con – she will forever associate my name and face with the great smoke incident of 2006

“Yes, I’m sorry about that – it’s a little more smoky than we anticipated.”

KB, drunk on the excitement of her fire, and of cleaning up the garden, emerged from the smoke with another armful of leaves. I pondered the introduction again, ‘Have you met my wife, KB’, But a note of desperation was entering our neighbour’s voice.
“Helloo – please do not put any more on. Can you put them in your garden waste bin – your brown bin. Do you not have a brown bin?”

I suggested to KB that it might be better if she put the leaves on the ground for now.

“Yes we do have a garden waste bin, but we want the ash to add to our compost.”

“It is very smoky. No?”

I was getting the feeling that the conversation was getting a little circular – any moment now the opportunity to introduce myself will come around again.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that – it’s a little more smoky than we anticipated.”

“We cannot use our living room – it is full of smoke, and we have guests visiting.”

“Well, I’m sorry – but I think it will be OK now – the wind has changed – see. Now the smoke is going up into the sky again, and more towards our house.”

I turn towards the fire, and once again the embers begin their hypnosis.

“Well goodbye then.” And the red jacket retreated into the smoky mist from whence it came.
I suggested to KB that maybe we should move out while we’re still ahead.