Thursday, May 14, 2009

The Burn Pile

I think I am going to miss a lot of things when Husband and I move into our new house and I officially become a "townie." I've lived in the country since before I can remember with the closest neighbors residing miles away from our old farmhouse. I'm going to miss the absolute quiet on warm spring evenings while reclining on the swing. I'm going to miss running outside in my underwear (or less) to grab a shirt and pants off the clothesline in the yard without worrying about any Peeping Toms. But most of all, I think I'm going to miss The Burn Pile. While living in town with my in-laws, I've had to wrap my head around the fact that every week someone comes around and picks up your trash. You don't just head out back and toss it into The Burn Barrel or on The Burn Pile, to be burned at a later date. Not exactly "green," I know, but efficient. The Burn Pile has offered much assistance during our renovation process. While most people would have to haul the offal to the landfill themselves (Mr. Trash Man refuses to even pick up grass clippings), we have had the luxury of loading up the ripped out carpeting, giant pieces of lauan, and other sundry pieces into the bed of our little gray truck, driving to my parents' house, meandering through a field, and satisfactorily pushing everything onto The Burn Pile, burn date to be decided.

And so, here is the best story I have about The Burn Pile.

One day, while I and my rational brain were away at college, my parents decided that they needed a new bed. So, logical people that they are, they drug the mattresses that made up their queen bed through the orchard, dumped them onto The Burn Pile, and lit a bonfire. Then, they drove to the furniture store in the next town over to purchase a new bed. They picked out their mattress and were then told that their mattress would arrive in about a week. *crickets chirping* did what already? No, we don't have any in stock. No, you can't just take the floor model. The next few days before the arrival of the mattress found them bed hopping, from the small guest bed that they found too hard and too close for comfort, to splitting up between the couch and my empty little twin bed, to the air mattress, pumped up on the floor of the sitting room.

Therefore, I pronounce my parents goobers and sing praises to The Burn Pile, so long as its powers are used wisely. Everyone should be so lucky as to have one.


Kyle said...

I love that story :) It's too funny.

Katherine said...

Yes, I just had to share it with the world:)

GeorgeDubya said...

Great story. . . And I now miss the burn trough we had at the house in the country. No pile or barrel for us. We had a concrete water trough that we used. It was glorious.

How often do you hear kids fighting to take out the garbage?