Don’t let anyone tell you that wet leaves won’t burn. They will. They just put up a fight about it, and their weapon of choice is smoke. Lots of smoke.
This was my second day of leaf-burning in a week. I have two ethnic groups of dead leaves: pear and loquat.
And there were God’s creatures present.
Most important was the white butterfly who decided one nanosecond before I put the leaves to the torch that she would sit a spell, right there on top.
Of course, burning butterflies of any color is a crime, but torching a white one is an express ticket to Hell. One is doomed. So, I shooed the butterfly away.
She left peacefully, which is the only way a butterfly can leave anything.
The other creatures present made themselves known solely by talk. The horse and the hog next door were quite vocal during the smoke storm. It blew their way. But I have no control over the wind. They should know that.
In order to burn wet leaves, one must also invite dry ones to the party. Pure wet won’t work, but an ethnic diversity, as with people, will flame a fire. Plenty of smoke, true, but in time you have ashes, which is the objective.
A leaf fire smells good. It smells like the old days.